


What do you mean we Left Clint on Mars?

by sara_holmes



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Clint, Background Relationships, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Clint Feels, Clint Needs a Hug, Dubious Science, Falling In Love, IN SPACE!, M/M, Minor Jane Foster/Thor, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Mutual Pining, Outer Space, Peter Quill is on the eternal shitlist, Tony Stark loves his spaceship, inspired by The Martian, space romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-27 10:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5044687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_holmes/pseuds/sara_holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What do you mean <i>we left Clint on Mars?” </i></p><p>Cap’s incredulous voice cuts through the stunned silence of the cockpit, loud and shocked. He’s standing there with his cowl in hand, gaping at the holo-screen at the front of the jet. Next to him, Tony is standing with his hands on his head, mouth hanging open in a similar fashion. Over on the other side of the cockpit is Jane, who has both palms clapped across her mouth like she’s trying to hold back hysterical giggles. </p><p>For his part, Bucky is just staring at the screen like he can’t quite believe what’s going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I saw the Martian and fell in love with it. And then somehow the awful terrible wonderful [fuckyeahdeafandasexual](http://fuckyeahdeafandasexual.tumblr.com/)  
> somehow got me onto thinking about Avengers on Mars. And then this happened.

**[Sol 1 - Journal Entry RE: ??!!!!!!!!111]**

Well. This looks bad.

* * *

 

“What do you mean _we left Clint on Mars?”_

Cap’s incredulous voice cuts through the stunned silence of the cockpit, loud and shocked. He’s standing there with his cowl in hand, gaping at the holo-screen at the front of the jet. Next to him, Tony is standing with his hands on his head, mouth hanging open in a similar fashion. Over on the other side of the cockpit is Jane, who has both palms clapped across her mouth like she’s trying to hold back hysterical giggles.

For his part, Bucky is just staring at the screen like he can’t quite believe what’s going on.

“Well, he’s not with you and he’s not with us?” On the video of the holoscreen, Peter Quill shrugs expansively. “My guess is that he’s still on Mars.”

“You said he was going with you! Six months to support-”

Quill’s eyes go wide. Behind him, Rocket can be seen shaking his head, the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes, groaning in despair at what can only be Quill’s stupidity. “We changed the plan, said we’d bring him along next time while we sort out this mess with the destroyer! I said that out loud, right?” Quill twists around, looking at the other Guardians for help. “I said that out loud!” he insists. Gamora just stares at him, and then slowly and deliberately folds her arms across her chest.

Quill deflates. “Okay, I may have forgotten to say that out loud,” he says, holding out a hand as if he’s trying to pacify Steve, who is looking more and more like he’s about to reach through the holoscreen and throttle Quill with his bare hands. “But in my defense-”

“Go and get him,” Steve instructs, and Bucky can hear exactly how angry he is in the short clipped syllables that are forced past his clenched jaw. “Now.”

“Well, the thing is, we already went into warp and we’ve not got enough juice for another jump back until we refuel, and if we don’t catch up with the destroyer-”

Tony cuts the video call, which is probably a good thing because Bucky had money on Steve being about to punch the screen. Steve stares at the blank screen, at the endless blackness and the stars beyond, and then he sinks down into the co-pilots chair, his head in his hands.

“Oh my god, we left Hawkeye on Mars.”

Jane steps forwards, distracted from her research for the first time since they took off. “Tony, we need to go back and get him.”

Tony turns, still with his hands on his head, fingers clutched into his hair. “We can’t,” he says. “Holy fuck, we can’t.”

“Oh my god,” Jane says, her eyes huge above her fingertips. “Oh my god, we left Clint on Mars.”

 

* * *

 

“Well come back and get me!”

Turns out that Clint was actually aware of being left behind on Mars. Bucky wasn't entirely convinced he’d even have noticed, but yep. He’s very much aware and he’s very much royally pissed off. From where Bucky is standing silently in the doorway of the cockpit, he can see how agitated Clint is. Not that he blames him at all, because oh that’s right. They left Clint on Mars.

“We can’t,” Steve says miserably, rubbing at his brow, elbow resting on the edge of the console. “If we could-”

“Bullshit!” Clint says. He stands up violently, pushes away from the workstation he’d been sat at. The video image lags infinitesimally, a short abrupt catch in the feed. “You’re telling me this fucking space jet that Stark has spent the last year bragging about can fly all the way to fucking Mars in sixty two days it but can’t turn around?!”

“We’re hurtling through space at ridiculous speed, Clint,” Tony says, fingertips pressed to his temples as he leans forwards. “There is no way we can stop this thing and turn it around without the help of a serious gravitational pull and without losing momentum entirely, physics doesn’t work that way-”

“Fuck you and fuck physics. You built a spaceship that can’t even fucking turn around,” Clint rants. “You fuckers left me on Mars!”

“We thought you’d gone off with the Guardians!” Tony retorts, obviously insulted by Clint’s assessment of his ship and physics. “If this is anyone’s fault it’s Peter Quill’s.”

“You left me on _Mars_ ,” Clint repeats, and then he seems to give up, slumping down into the chair and knocking his head against the desk. He lifts it up a fraction of an inch and then lets his head fall back against the metal of the workbench with a bang.

“Clint, don’t,” Steve says. “Look, I know how hard this must be-”

“Being asleep and frozen in ice for seventy years does not compare to being awake and left on Mars for-” Clint breaks off, lifts his head. “How long am I even going to be here for?”

Bucky bites his lip. He knows the numbers. Steve and Tony look at each other and then Tony huffs out a breath and says, “Lowest estimate is a hundred and forty nine days.”

“A hundred and forty nine days?!” Clint sputters. “I have to sit on my ass on Mars for _a hundred and forty nine days_ until you come and get me? We were only meant to be here nineteen days! Fuck you guys!”

“Clint, we’re sorry,” Steve begins.

“Not sorry enough to invent a spaceship that can turn around. _Fuck_ you guys.”

Tony shakes his head, for once lost for words. Steve repeats his apologies and tries to talk him around as Clint continues to rant and rave, back to pacing back and forth and waving his arms around in sheer helpless frustration.

Poor guy. Bucky can only be grateful that it’s not him.

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 2 - Journal Entry RE: Stark Tech can suck my dick.]**

Who the fuck builds a spaceship that can’t even turn around? Physics can go fuck itself.

 

* * *

 

“So, Clint has enough rations to last him until we can go and get him,” Steve says to the team as they huddle around the meeting table in the communal area. Bucky is leaning back in his chair, carefully watching the others; the shock has worn off and been replaced with guilt. It’s a tricky time; guilt can make people do things they wouldn’t normally. He would know.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Jane asks, though she doesn’t sound convinced. “No way we can-”

Tony shakes his head. He looks exhausted. “I’ve been up all night, running numbers,” he says. “We’re moving too fast to be able to turn back. This is tech designed for straight line speed through the solar system, it’s not got the capacity to maneuver like the Milano. Though the only way the Milano can match this speed is by going into warp, and they definitely can’t change direction once they’re there. We’re basically doing the same, and if I try and stop us-”

“The point being,” Steve interrupts, rubbing his face with his hand. “Is that we can’t go back. We have to get to Earth, pull off a nineteen day turnaround on refitting the Highway and then go straight back out again.”

Bucky feels his mouth twitch. “Just because Peter Quill is a moron and Clint Barton has the worst timing in the world?”

“It’s not funny, Buck,” Steve says half-heartedly. “We left him on Mars.”

“We left him in New Jersey once too, we didn’t kick up a fuss about that.”

“You are not helping,” Tony bites out, and then pauses. “But Terminator has a point. It’s kinda funny.”

“It is not,” Steve says. “SHIELD are going to have my ass when I get back.”

“How about when Clint finds it funny, we can find it funny?” Tony suggests. “It’s Clint. He won’t stay mad for long.”

Steve sighs. “Deal.”

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 3 - Journal Entry RE: Peter Quill can also suck my dick.]**

Okay. So. I’ve been left on Mars. My team has left me on Mars. Because Starlord is an idiot, I’ve been left on Mars. A hundred and forty nine days minimum. On Mars.

So. I’m kind of over being mad about it. It wasn’t their fault, really. Quill being an idiot and a poorly timed bathroom break. I hope Cap realizes I’ll be asking him for permission to go for a piss on every mission from now on. Just, you know. In case I leave the room for five minutes and suddenly GET LEFT ON MARS.

Okay maybe I’m still a little pissed. Natasha better cry when the team back home find out. Oh who am I kidding. I’m not in any life threatening danger, I got plenty of astronaut food. She’ll be laughing her ass off.

Can’t believe they left me. This sucks, bro.

 

* * *

 

Bucky walks slowly and quietly through the muted lighting of the rest area of the ship, unable to sit and ignore the empty bunk across from his for a moment longer. Above his bunk, Jane is fast asleep, breathing deep and even. Every now and again she sleepily murmurs indistinct words, probably dreaming about wormholes or data something. Or Thor, though Bucky reckons the murmurs would have a slightly different cadence to them if she were dreaming about Thor.

There’s a photo of Clint and the team stuck to the wall on the inside of Clint’s bunk, up by his pillow. Bucky had pointed out that most of the team were going on the mission so why the hell did Clint need a photo, and Clint had just grinned and said _‘I’m an astronaut, bro. This is what astronauts do.’_ He’d also stuck up a picture of a one-eyed dog and a girl with a big smile holding a bow in hand. Girlfriend, probably. Bucky doesn’t know him well, but he knows that Clint Barton is exactly the type of person who could get himself left on Mars but also be able to bag a young beautiful girl who would be unfathomably willing to put up with his shit.

Blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he leaves the muted grey light of the rest area and heads for the brighter lights of the small rec area. Even if Clint is personally insulted by the lack of turning-around-capability that the Highway posses, Bucky fuckin’ loves this ship. Not that he’ll be saying that out loud and definitely not in front of Stark. It reminds him of the things he saw at the Future Expo that he and Steve went to all that time ago, and now here he is living it.

The rec area is already occupied. Steve is sitting alone at the table with his head in his hands, motionless. It breaks Bucky’s heart a little.

“Steve?”

“I fucked up,” Steve says, voice thick. Bucky internally sighs, because this fuck up is on all of them but it wouldn’t be Steve if he weren’t taking it personally. He pads over to sit on the edge of the table, putting his feet on the edge of Steve’s chair and shoving his toes under his thigh; even wearing two pairs of socks, space is cold.

“You didn’t,” he says as Steve lifts his leg slightly, just enough for Bucky to fully wedge his feet underneath. “We all did. And Peter Quill certainly did.”

Steve nods, lifting his head. His eyes are red and Bucky’s heart breaks a little more. “Starlord is officially on my eternal shitlist,” he says, and Bucky barks out a laugh.

“Yours and the rest of the galaxy’s,” he says. “Hey, Clint’ll be fine. You said he’s got food, he’s safe. He’ll just be bored shitless.”

“For a hundred and fifty days,” Steve says morosely. “He’s still furious. Told me to go fuck myself.”

“Well, the man has been left on Mars,” Bucky ventures. “Gotta allow him some venting time.”

“I should have checked-”

“Don’t go there, Steve,” Bucky warns. “It happened. Shit happens. We’re Avengers, shit always happens. Remember when Tony got eaten by that giant cephalopod? It spat him out, no big deal.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah, remember how monumentally pissed he was?”

“And he was joking about it by dinner,” Bucky says. “Come on, Steve. Don’t blame yourself. You’ve done enough of that.”

Steve’s mouth flickers slightly, the very edge of a sad and tired smile. “I’ll try.”

“Go and get some sleep,” Bucky says, and pulls his feet free. Steve waves him off but does stand up, and Bucky can only hope that he’s going to listen. Knowing Steve, probably not.

Knowing he can’t hope to achieve much more with him, he leaves Steve to it and instead heads forwards through the hatch to the cockpit. Just as he predicted, Tony is there, sitting in the pilot’s seat with his feet up on the console and staring unblinkingly out the front window.

“Still crunching numbers?” Bucky calls, walking past Jane’s station and the rack that holds the space suits to sit down in the co-pilot’s seat.

Tony shakes his head. “Not intentionally,” he says, his tone heavy and depreciating. “Though Barton is right. Miracle of engineering my ass.”

“Okay, whoa, time out,” Bucky says. “What happened to the Tony Stark who declared the Highway was his baby and he was leaving it a trust fund?”

Tony snorts. “He left a teammate on Mars.”

“God, you sound like Steve,” Bucky says, planting a socked foot on the side of the console and twisting the chair from side to side. “Shit happens.”

Tony glares at him. “You wouldn’t be so full of it if you’d spoken to Clint earlier,” he says.  “What do you want?”

Bucky just shrugs. He’s not going to tell Stark he’s checking in on him because that will just rub him up the wrong way. He’s certainly not going to say _‘I’m the only crew member that hasn’t lost the plot about leaving Clint behind, so I’m remaining objective and am trying to make sure you lot don’t lose your head and get us killed us because I don’t want to die in space, thanks’_ ”

“I like the view,” he says instead, lifting his chin to look up at the stars, the blurs of light around them.

“Yeah,” Tony says vaguely, not really listening. He looks distant and Bucky knows he’s gone off into data and numbers territory again, trying to work out a plan B even though he knows there isn’t one.

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 4 - Journal Entry RE: Tell Kate to feed the dog]**

Four days alone on Mars feels like 4000000000, just incase anyone was wondering. I quit the Avengers. I’m going to join a team that doesn’t leave people behind in space. Which discounts the Guardians and the Fantastic Four, but I really don’t want to be an X-man. Fuck it, I’ll just take Kate and start Hawkeye Squared. We can be hired out to help save the day for a hundred bucks an hour. Lucky can be our mascot.

Oh man, _Lucky._

* * *

 

Taking a deep breath, Bucky sits down in Jane’s seat, looking over her workstation warily. Frankly it screams mad science; there are numbers and diagrams everywhere, written on scraps of paper and scrawled on notepads and even written on the wall. The space is littered in pens and books and empty mugs and if the gravity in here fails they’re going to be fucked.

Nudging aside a notepad and an apple core, Bucky leans over to flick the monitor on. He’s not a science guy, his area of the ship is the weapons locker and technically he’s not meant to go anywhere near the communications or Jane’s science, but needs must.

He navigates his way to the communications tab and pauses for a moment before clicking on ‘station three.’ There’s a beep of acknowledgement and then long seconds in which nothing happens. He waits impatiently, tapping metal fingers against the edge of the workbench.

The call connects. The screen flickers, and then Clint appears, wearing a blanket like a shroud and scowling at the monitor, rubbing at the corner of his eye with his fingertips.

“Checking I’m still here?” he grouches. “Yep, still here, still on Mars because you left me - Barnes?”

The disgruntled look is replaced by one of momentary surprise. Bucky waves at him. “In the flesh,” he says, and then glances at the hand he’s waving with. “Or not, whatever.”

Clint scowls again. “Not in the mood for your bad jokes,” he says.

“You love my bad jokes,” Bucky says. “They’re the only ones that can hope to match yours in both how terrible and inappropriate they are.”

Clint snorts at that. “True, but I’m still not in the mood. It might have escaped your notice, but I’ve been left on Mars.”

“I know,” Bucky says simply, and decides not to pussyfoot around the issue. “And it fucking sucks. But it is what is it is, and I’m going to have to ask you to deal with that.”

Clint gapes at him. Incredulous doesn’t even begin to cover the look on his face. “You want me to just deal with it?” he manages to splutter. “I’ve been left on fucking Mars, you fucking one-armed douchebag!”

“I know you have, and it sucks,” Bucky repeats impatiently. “And we’re going to do everything we can to find a solution and to make it easier on you. But you’ve gotta stop taking it out on the team, they’re losing it.”

“ _They’re_ losing it?” Clint echoes, unimpressed. He gestures around him with an arm, knocking his blanket shroud loose, as if to say _‘look at this, man. If anyone has a right to lose it it’s me.’_

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Steve is in shreds and is blaming himself, and Tony can’t focus on anything but trying to re-engineer his damn spaceship so he can come get you. They’re upset, they’re unfocused and they still have to get us home. Not to mention reentry and landing, if another destroyer appears we’re going to be fucked.”

That makes Clint pause. “Steve?”

“Crying,” Bucky replies. “Don’t let him know I told you though.”

All at once, Clint seems to deflate. “Aw, no,” he says helplessly, and slumps forwards, resting his elbow on the edge of the workbench and sighing so hard his blanket slides from his shoulders entirely. He sits there in silence for a few moments and Bucky lets him.

“Why do I have to be the one to get my shit together,” Clint says after a while. “I got left behind.”

It’s quiet and sad and Bucky feels a pang. “I know,” he says. “I’m asking a lot. But guilt does not sit well on Tony or Steve, and I’m worried for them. Hey, blame Starlord for this fuck up all you want, even blame me if you can find a way. But just - please stop taking it out on the team.”

Clint’s eyes flicker up at the word please. Possibly because Bucky so rarely uses it. “Not going to blame you,” he says finally. “Your job was to count weapons, not people.”

“So how about you use all that pent up anger to plot ways to kill Peter Quill?”

Clint laughs at that. “I could,” he muses. “Alright, so dealing with it.” He pauses, looks up at Bucky, pained. “How do I deal with it?”

“Pal, I have no idea,” Bucky says with a laugh. “We’ll work something out.”

Clint nods. He twists around to retrieve his blanket and pulls it back around him. “Thanks, Bucky,” he says and then pauses. “Man, space is cold.”

Bucky nods. “Tell me about it,” he says, and leans back so he can lift his foot up above the edge of the workbench. “Two pairs of thermal socks.”

Clint laughs. “Didn’t think you felt the cold.”

“More than most,” Bucky says ruefully. “I just learned to deal with it.”

“With an iron will and extra socks?”

Bucky grins. “Something like that.”

Clint smiles and then sighs. “Get Steve to call me,” he says.

Bucky nods. “Will do,” he says. “Talk to you later.”

Clint nods, reaches out and then the video feed winks out, leaving Bucky looking at nothing but his own reflection in the holoscreen and feeling faintly like he’s achieved something.

 

* * *

 

  **[Sol 6 - Journal Entry RE: Bucky Barnes wears two pairs of socks like a loser.]**

Okay, so maybe when it gets to the point that Bucky Barnes is telling you to get your shit together, you know you need to get your shit together. Steve seemed pretty grateful for the apology though, so maybe Bucky Barnes actually knows what he’s talking about.

I get left behind on Mars and I make Captain America cry so I still end up being the dick. Life, you are a cruel bitch and I hate you.

Does feel kinda better to not be pissed all the time though. But just so we’re clear, in the official write up I dealt with situation with resilience and fortitude and didn’t need Bucky goddamn Barnes to talk me round.

Oh, and the Winter Soldier doesn’t like the cold. How fucking hilarious is that. That’s like me not liking _eyes_. Or Hawks. Or something like that, shut up.

 

* * *

 

Bucky is on his thirty-third mile on the treadmill that’s part of the suite in the belly of the ship when Steve appears. He appears to be on his way to the shower, wearing sweats with a towel swung around his neck. How he doesn’t feel the cold right now is a mystery to Bucky, but he guesses that for Steve it’s mostly psychological anyway.

“So I checked the communications log,” Steve says neutrally, coming to stand in front of Bucky, leaning his forearms on the treadmill. “And it appears that Jane called Clint a couple of days ago, right before he apologized to me.”

Bucky grunts. “Good for Jane.”

“I know it wasn’t Jane, Buck.”

Bucky glares at him, wiping his real hand over his brow. “You and Tony were losing the plot. Didn’t want to be killed in space because you were all eaten up with guilt.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Steve says, and the bastard reaches out to power down the treadmill. “Thank you, Buck.”

“Hey,” Bucky protests as the treadmill slows to walking pace. “I wasn’t done.”

Steve utterly ignores him. “Dinner in ten,” he says. “And then I want you to call Clint.”

Bucky’s brows fly up. “You call him.”

Steve shakes his head. “You got through to him,” he says. “I want you to be Clint’s point of contact. Every day, check in and see how he’s doing. We’ll call him too. But I want you to make it a daily thing.”

“I’m no head doctor,” Bucky protests. “I just told him to stow his shit and pull it together.”

“Well you’re obviously exactly what he needs to hear,” Steve says. “Please, Buck.”

“I barely know the guy.”

Steve shrugs. “Perfect time to get to know him. He’s not exactly going far.”

Bucky groans. “Fine,” he says, “I’ll do it.”

Steve claps him on the shoulder, grateful. “Thanks.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and then narrows them. “You know Stark watches you on the surveillance when you wander around shirtless?”

He expects Steve’s mouth to fall open in outrage, to sputter and demand to know _‘what?!’._  What Bucky doesn’t expect is for Steve to lift an eyebrow and say, “Why do you think I’m wandering around shirtless? It’s cold in here,” before grinning, patting Bucky’s cheek affectionately and heading off to the shower.

The treadmill winds to a stop and Bucky sways with it as he comes to a standstill.

Well, shit.

 

* * *

 

Clint looks exhausted. Shadows under his eyes, skin pale and waxy. Bucky winces as he looks him over; isolation is not suiting Clint well. And it’s only day six.

“Well you look like shit.”

“I feel like shit too,” Clint says morosely, scratching at his belly through the grey shirt he's wearing. “Just woke up.”

“How much have you been sleeping?” Bucky asks, momentarily taken aback.

Clint hums. “Well I went to sleep after I spoke to Steve yesterday,” he says. “Then you called me and I woke up.”

“That’s like eighteen hours,” Bucky says. “No wonder you feel like shit.”

“Well there’s not a lot else to do,” Clint grumbles. “And you took being grumpy off of my schedule, so I had to fill it with something.”

“You’re being grumpy just fine,” Bucky says. “You need to sleep eight hours and that’s it.”

“Eight hours?!” Clint says, aghast. “Twelve.”

“Eight.”

“Eleven?”

“ _Eight,_ Clint.”

“Nine?”

“Alright, nine,” Bucky says, exasperated. “But I mean it. You need a schedule or you’re going to lose it.”

“A schedule? What are you, Coulson in disguise?”

“It’ll help,” Bucky says. “I’ve been in lock up for extended periods of time too, dumbass. I would know.”

Clint seems to consider the point. he looks at Bucky like he's debating something, brow creasing like he's not sure about what to say. After a moment of deliberation he finally asks, “Where?”

“Siberia,” Bucky says. He doesn't mind talking about it, really. Not here, and not to Clint, anyway. “You think Mars is cold, you don’t know shit.”

Clint laughs through the jaw-splitting yawn that escapes from his mouth. “Okay, okay. Schedule,” he says. “What goes on a stranded on Mars schedule?”

“Anything, as long as you stick to it,” Bucky says. “Get up. Exercise. Meal times. shooting time. Whatever.”

“Not allowed to shoot in here,” Clint says. “Stupid sealed environment.”

“Okay, okay, bad call,” Bucky says hastily. “But you get the point.”

Clint nods. “I get the point,” he echoes. “Why’re you calling me, anyway?”

“Steve’s asked me to check in on you everyday,” Bucky says. “The others will still call you, but I’m your official daily check in.”

Clint screws up his face in confusion. “Why you?”

Bucky shrugs. “Probably because I’m not swamped by guilt about leaving you behind and can be objective about the situation?”

Clint stares at him for a moment and then shrugs. “Okay, makes sense. This gonna be part of my schedule?”

“Yeah, why not,” Bucky says. “How about you call me at the same time every day? Every Sol, whatever.”

“What if you don’t pick up?”

“Then I’m either fighting aliens or dead,” Bucky replies. “I’ll pick up, Clint.”

Clint looks oddly relieved at that, nodding. “Keep panicking that you guys will get cut off from me,” he admits, scratching at the rough stubble that covers his chin. “A hundred and forty days is a lot longer if there’s no-one to talk to.”

“Comms are holding fine,” Bucky says. “Don’t worry about that. If shit happens, we deal with it.”

Exhaling softly, Clint nods. He doesn’t say anything, just chews at his lip and stares down at the keyboard in front of him. The video feed lags a little as he fidgets and Bucky can only hope that the comms _stay_ holding fine.

Neither say anything for a long while. Bucky doesn’t have anything to say, and he’s not one for useless platitudes. Clint just sits there, apparently unwilling to hang up even as the silence stretches out. He still looks tired but he doesn't look as shitty as he did earlier; apparently reassurance does wonders for Hawkeye, Bucky notes as he watches Clint tap his fingers idly against his sternum.

“Okay,” Clint finally says, long minutes later. “I’m going to do a rations check. That’s productive, right?”

“You’ve got enough food to last you until we pick you up.”

“Yes, but I want to see how much of that is astronaut ice cream and how much is astronaut spinach,” Clint says as it it’s obvious.

“You cannot live on ice cream for a hundred and forty nine days,” Bucky says.

Clint looks right at the camera, plants his hands on the edge of the bench and leans in so the screen is entirely taken up by his suddenly determined looking face. “You just watch me.”

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 7 - Journal Entry RE: Astronaut food sucks]**

So, I have enough meals to last me three hundred and four Sols, which is great. Bad news is that I only have enough ice-cream to eat every three days, and that astronaut pizza is not a thing. Though back in the pro column is that I don’t have to eat any of the astronaut spinach, but that means I will have to eat the other vegetables. And I would like to personally thank Tony Stark for the two bottles of erm, what is this, Glenfiddich that I found stashed under his bunk. Tut tut, you can’t drink in space, Tony, what were you thinking?

For the record though, I am totally going to get drunk in space.

* * *

 

“Are you drunk?!”

“No,” Clint says indignantly, and then starts to laugh. “Yeah, I’m really drunk.”

Bucky presses his fingers to his temples. Behind him, Jane pauses as she’s walking past, leaning down and peering at the monitor. Her hair swings forwards and she tucks it distractedly behind her ear, leaning closer.

“Is he drunk?”

Bucky ignores the question, because between Clint’s manic giggling and the flush on his face it’s pretty obvious what the answer is. “What have you been drinking?” Bucky asks Clint.

Clint leans down and picks up a bottle, gleaming amber in the light. “Tony, I owe you however much this cost. Which is probably hundreds of dollars which I don’t have. But now we’re even.”

“Oh my god,” Jane says. “Clint, stop drinking.”

“I also found a huge bag of jellybeans and a sketch book under Steve’s bed, around five hundred notebooks and an MP3 player under Jane’s, and four knives and a kalashnikov under yours,” Clint continues happily, pointing a finger at Bucky.

Bucky rubs his forehead. “It’s a Dragunov rifle, idiot.”

“Sniper,” Clint says, pointing finger guns at the screen. “Pew, pew.”

“Oh my god,” Jane says. “Clint, please don’t drink anymore. Bucky, make him stop drinking.”

“I’m nearly seventy million kilometers away from him!” Bucky says. “It’s not my fault he’s stumbled across Tony’s damn stash!”

“I fucking hate Mars,” Clint says, tone accusatory, pouring himself another drink. Some of it spills onto his fingers and he licks it off. “It’s so orange and fucking far away from everything. There’s not even a McDonalds, I thought McDonald’s had restaurants everywhere.”

“You are going to be so hungover tomorrow,” Bucky says, more to himself than Clint. “Clint, drinking alone right now is a bad idea, I’m telling you.”

Clint just grins at him. “Come and join me then,” he says cockily, and tosses the drink back.

“Are you talking to Clint?”

At the sound of Steve’s voice, Jane and Bucky both stand up and whip around, instinctively standing shoulder to shoulder to block the view of the monitor.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Bucky says. Damn, why is Jane so tiny. Steve can probably step forwards in inch and see straight over the top of her head.

“Absolutely fine,” Jane adds, and Steve looks at her curiously. Bucky resists the urge to stamp on her foot, mostly because she’s tiny and he could break her toes, but also because he knows she could kill him with science in retaliation if she chose. And her boyfriend is a god too, so there is that.

“Bucky? Where’d you- whoa!”

From the holoscreen there’s a yelp, a thud and a crash. Steve’s eyebrows go up and Bucky sighs.

“He found booze. He’s drunk.”

“I am not,” a voice from the holoscreen says. “Steve, help me up.”

Steve’s brows go impossibly even higher, and Jane and Bucky look at each other before stepping aside. Bucky turns as Steve leans in to look at the monitor, just in time to see Clint appear from under the workbench, clutching his forehead in one hand and the bottle in the other.

“I‘m okay,” he says. “I’m alright, nobody panic.”

Jane claps a hand across her mouth. Steve covers his eyes with a broad palm, nostrils flaring as he breathes out very deliberately, before turning around to bellow Tony’s name. Bucky bites down on a sudden urge to laugh, looking at Clint and shaking his head.

Clint just grins and blows him a kiss.

* * *

 

**[Sol 8 - Journal Entry RE: blearrgh]**

Oh my god I’m never drinking in space again.

* * *

 

**[Sol 14 - Journal Entry RE: This really isn’t fun anymore]**

I miss the team. I miss people. I miss Nat. I miss the damn dog and I even miss Kate being a pain in the ass. I miss my own bed and New York. I even miss Coulson and his paperwork. Well, maybe I don’t miss Coulson and the paperwork, but I miss a lot of stuff real bad.

The schedule is helping. Get up at six, exercise for an hour, have breakfast. Fuck around and then have lunch. Fuck around some more, have a nap, read and then eat dinner. Call Bucky, watch one of the six films that are on my computer. Snack and contemplate my existence as the only living thing on Mars. Sleep. Rinse. Repeat.

Talking to Bucky helps as well, I guess. Seven PM every Sol, on the dot. Talking to the others is great, but knowing that he’ll be there the same time every day is keeping me sane.

Fuck it, I don’t know. Hawkeye out.

 

* * *

 

When Clint calls that night, Bucky instantly knows there’s something off about him. Even though he’s sitting as he usually does, sprawled in the chair at the workstation, he doesn’t look the same. He looks smaller, more withdrawn.

“How’s day fourteen treating you?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, sipping at his mug of coffee.

Clint shrugs.

Bucky pauses, mug a few inches from his mouth. Takes a careful sip and then puts it down. “Clint?”

“Well, you know I’m alive,” Clint says listlessly. “I’ll leave you to it-”

He reaches out towards the monitor, presumably to cut the call.

“Whoa, whoa, Clint,” Bucky says, taken aback. “What’s up?”

Clint’s hand pauses.  “I’m stuck on fucking Mars is what’s wrong,” he says, and his voice cracks. He pulls back, swears and gets out of the chair, walking away. He leaves the video call running though, and Bucky is left staring at an empty chair, and empty room and a blank white wall behind it.

“Clint?” he tries cautiously. There’s no answer. Bucky swears under his breath, rubs at his jaw.

“Okay, I don’t know if you can hear me,” he says. “But I’m gonna leave this open. You come back and talk when you’re ready, or you cut the call when you’re ready.”

He thinks of lonely nights in cold cells, waiting for someone to tell him what was happening. Whether he would have to wait, whether he was ready for a new mission, whether he was going back into cryo. His chest pangs with unexpected empathy, and he wishes there were something he could do.

“I know you call me at seven,” he says to the empty screen. “But if you ever wanna drop an extra call, do it.

“I’m here, Clint,” he finishes simply, wondering what else to say. Pursing his lips and tapping his fingers against the rim of his mug, he decides on nothing. He waits another couple of minutes and then gets up, leaving the call connected.

He walks by twenty minutes later and the screen is blank.

 

* * *

 

A soft, distant beeping draws Bucky from sleep into wakefulness. He pushes himself up on an elbow, hears Steve moving further down the rest area. A light clicks on; the edge of his bunk and the floor are washed with a soft glow, and then he hears Steve’s feet padding along the floor.

“Whats’it?” Tony’s voice murmurs.

“Jane’s computer,” Steve says, voice thick with sleep. “Do you know if she left something running overnight?”

Bucky is up on his feet in an instant, rolling out of the bunk. “Steve, I got it,” he says, and he darts along the narrow space until he gets to where Steve is through the hatch into the cockpit and almost at Jane’s workstation. He pushes past him. “It’s Clint, he didn’t want to talk earlier so I told him to call back-”

He slips into Jane’s chair, reaches for the monitor. At the last moment, he turns back to Steve, who is standing and watching him.

“I got this, Steve,” he says. “You go back to bed.”

Steve cocks his head curiously and then nods. “Tell him hello from me,” he says, and then turns back, yawning as he goes.

Bucky watches him go and then leans forwards to answer the call. Clint flickers into view, sat in the near dark of the station, sitting in his chair with his knees pulled up. He’s wearing a black beanie hat and a thick jumper, the sleeves of which fall down over his hands.

“Mars is cold at night,” he says without looking at the screen. His voice is thick.

“Minus sixty out there,” Bucky says. “Keep wrapped up.”

Clint smiles weakly, then hides it in his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs. “I’m having a rough day,” he says. “Hit the two week mark and…”

He stops, voice catching again. “Jesus, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, reaching up to pull the hat further down his head, fingers scratching at the wool. “I had a lid on it, I swear.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky shrugs. He's broken down in much worse ways before. “No-one here but me.”

“You forgot how much you touch people,” Clint says suddenly. “Steve putting his hand on your shoulder. Nat kicking at my ankles. Kate giving out hugs like they’re going out of fashion. Man, Mars is lonely. Even Tony - he’s always standing too close, nudging me or prodding and poking. Never thought I’d miss that.”

He shakes his head. “Talking to Steve - I mean, It’s not the same. He still looks guilty, keeps giving me pep talks. I don’t think he even means to, he just does.”

Bucky nods. “Gee, I have no idea what that might be like,” he says wryly, and Clint laughs quietly.

“I’m so fucking cold,” he says. “No Lucky to use as a foot warmer.”

“No girl to keep your bed warm at night?” Bucky suggests, and Clint snorts.

“How’s life aboard the Highway?”

“Same old,” Bucky says. “Jane is still excited about space, Steve wants to get home. Tony wants to pull the ship apart and make it better as it’s flying, I think we talked him out of that. Oh, and I think Steve and Tony are flirting.”

Clint lifts his head from his knees, suddenly looking a lot more bright and alert. “What? Tell me everything.”

“Never had you pegged as a gossip,” Bucky says, amused.

“Hell yes I am, now gimme,” Clint says. “This is prime rib juicy, baby. Spill.”

Bucky laughs softly. Rubs his hands up and down his bare upper arms. “Alright Princess, if you insist.”

 

* * *

 

“How is he?”

Bucky looks around from where he’s perched in one of the Highway’s circular windows, back resting against the curve of metal and feet braced opposite him. It’s Steve who walks up to him, wearing the deep blue undersuit which goes under his spacesuit. Bucky hates the undersuits; they're ridiculously tight and nearly impossible to get in and out of unaided. Though at least he won the argument about having his in black, unlike the argument about his actual space suit. 

“Hmm?”

“Clint. He called you late last night.”

Bucky shrugs, goes back to gazing out of the window at the distant stars. He can see Mars from here, a bright red light in the distance.

“Lonely,” he says. “Hit a rough patch. Missing people.”

“We need to call him more?”

“No,” Bucky says absently. “It’s touch he’s missing. You guys are a handsy bunch, and he’s suddenly not got that.”

“I can understand that much,” Steve sighs. “God, I feel awful.”

“He knows,” Bucky says. Movement outside catches his eye and he cranes his neck up to see the bulk of the Iron Man space-suit appear outside the window, pulling himself along by gripping onto the outside of the craft. He pauses and waves at Bucky, who gives him the finger in return.

“He better be wearing a tether,” Steve says flatly.

“He is,” Bucky replies. “Looks like your safety first speech actually went in. What’s he even doing out there?”

“Maintenance,” Steve says. “Just routine stuff. I might have to go out and join him.”

Tony waves again and presses an armor clad palm to the window. Steve grins and reaches out past Bucky, pressing his own palm to the glass so it matches Tony’s.

“Oh give me a break,” Bucky says, and shoves Steve’s arm out of the way. Outside, Tony spread his hands expansively and then presses one to his chest over his heart. “If you two are going to screw, just do it.”

“Whatever gives you that idea,” Steve says, but he’s fighting back a grin, waving Tony away from the window. Tony salutes and then pushes away, presumably heading back towards the airlock.

“No screwing on the spaceship!” Jane’s voice shouts from somewhere. “Steve, you promised!”

“See, privacy is pretty hard to come by around here,” Bucky points out. “Go let your boy in. And no banging in the airlock.”

Steve rolls his eyes but obediently heads off, and Bucky shakes his head in exasperation before settling back into his perch. He looks back towards the faint red glow of Mars, thinking about Tony and Steve touching hands across the glass and how those six inches might as well be a hundred thousand kilometres.

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 16 - Journal Entry RE: Get a grip, Hawkeye]**

Well, that was embarrassing. Crying in front of the Winter Soldier? At least he saw me crying over being stuck on Mars and not because I was watching the Titanic or because I'd run out of pizza bagels, right?

Being here is lonely. And holy shit I miss people. Warmth of people. Sitting next to people, just being able to touch someone. Not like _that_ , but just. You know. A hug'd be nice.

But like Bucky says, this sucks but I’m gonna have to deal with it. I can’t magic this better, can’t fix it with wishing. I just have to sit tight and wait it out. I’m Hawkeye for christ’s sake. I may not be a super soldier or a freaking genius but I will be the goddamn Avenger that survived a hundred and forty nine days alone on Mars.

I managed nine years at home with my dad. I can do half a year on Mars. Piece of cake. See? All you need is a little perspective.

 

* * *

 

The next time Bucky talks to Clint, he looks way better. He’s freshly washed, bright eyed and drinking a cup of coffee from a straw that appears to be almost two metres long. His mug is on the floor a considerable way from him, and he’s perched on the edge of his chair like some sort of purple-shirted gargoyle.

“Cool huh?” Clint says, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucks. “I made it.”

Well, it’s not like he’s got anything else to be doing. “Super-straw. Nice. You feeling better then?”

“Yeah,” Clint shrugs, taking the straw out of his mouth. “Might as well enjoy the fact that there is no-one to tell me what to do for a few months. I’m on Hawkeye time now. And I will be using this to get my own way about everything when I get home.”

“What do you mean?”

Clint grins. “Hey Hawkeye, go chase that bad guy,” he says, affecting a deep voice that Bucky strongly suspects is a very bad impression of Steve. “Aw no, sorry I can’t. I’m still traumatized from being left on Mars. Hey Hawkeye, fill in this paperwork. Oh no I can’t, I forgot how to write when you left me on Mars. Tony, get me coffee. You left me on Mars.”

Bucky barks out a laugh. “Now you sound like you.”

“I feel like me,” Clint says. “Just a really bored version of me.”

“Well think about it. If you weren’t bored, you would never have created super-straw. You wouldn’t want to deprive the world of that.”

“You need to take the news of super-straw back to the people,” Clint says seriously. “I want it on CNN. Fox news. On a billboard in Times Square.”

“Did you miss the part where I’m still in space?” Bucky points out. “I’ll put up a notice in the rec area.”

“I’ll take it,” Clint says. “Hey, I think I’m gonna go outside tomorrow.”

Bucky pauses at that. “Yeah?”

Clint nods, looking relieved. Bucky's not sure why; maybe he was anticipating a more Steve-esque response to the idea. Bucky doesn't care either way if Clint goes out or not; it'll actually probably do the idiot good to have something else on his schedule.

“I got my suit here. I know how to work the airlock. I need to shoot something.”

“What are you gonna shoot, rocks?”

Clint nods. “Rocks. Aliens. The broken solar panels that Tony left there. Anything and everything. I’m going to go out and be the best archer on Mars.”

Bucky laughs. “Setting the bar high there.”

Clint nods. He puts the straw back in his mouth, mimes a bar just above his head.

“Come on, you’re the best archer on a planet of eight billion people,” Bucky says dismissively. “Being the best archer on Mars is a given.”

Clint grins. “Aw shucks. You do have a soul.”

Bucky raises an indignant eyebrow at that. “Who the hell said I didn’t?”

Clint shrugs. “You’re just very...terminator, some days.”

“You don’t know me,” Bucky reminds him.

“Getting to know you now though,” Clint says. “We’re bonding over millions of miles of empty space. That’s poetic.”

“Poetic, really?”

Clint grins. “A little bit. Either that or it’s hilariously fucked up.”

“Isn’t that your default setting? Hilariously fucked up?”

Laughing, Clint spins the chair from side to side. “Well you certainly know me.”

“I know you’ll be fine,” Bucky says. “You’re doing well.”

“You’ll make me blush,” Clint says with a roll of his eyes. “Alright, that sounds like a place to end the conversation before we get too mushy.”

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky informs him. “Hey, if you’re serious about going out, make sure you follow all the procedures. Everything done by the letter.”

“I will.”

“I mean it,” Bucky says. “No unnecessary risks.”

“Wow, you opened your mouth and Steve started talking,” Clint says, and he leans towards the monitor, finger extended to turn it off. “I’ll be careful. I swear on my reputation as the best archer on Mars. See you tomorrow, Bucky.”

 

* * *

Frowning, Bucky glances at the time on the computer screen. 19:16. Clint usually calls exactly on seven but he’s yet to hear anything, and there’s something in the pit of his stomach that’s restless and uneasy. He watches the numbers flick over, slowly turning one of his knives over and over between his fingers, the action repetitive and soothing.

“Do you have to do that?” Jane asks from next to him, staring down at a sheet of appear covered in numbers. She gives the knife a wary look, like it's about to jump out of Bucky's hands and stab her or - heaven forbid - her science.

“Clint hasn’t called.”

Jane glances up, eyes scanning over the screen. “Not too late yet. Only quarter past.”

“He’s never late,” Bucky says, still turning the knife over and over. “Something’s happened.”

“He’s probably fallen asleep, you know Clint,” Jane says soothingly. “Give it ten more minutes and then-”

Bucky shakes his head. Without another word, he leans forwards and opens the communications tab. He taps on the button that will connect him to the station, the console emits its usual beep, lines of code running as it tries to connect.

_err.542 no connection_

“What do you mean no fucking connection?” Bucky says out loud, momentarily unable to process the message on screen. That shocks him; usually he’s able to _observe understand react_ in lightening time, that’s what makes him able to do what he does, but suddenly he can’t get hold of Clint and his brain is stalling.

“What?” Jane mutters, and she’s putting her pen and paper down and leaning in. “Bucky, try again.”

He does. Right away. He waits and he waits and the error message comes up again, sitting innocuously in the center of the screen, unaware of the panic it’s causing.

_err.542 no connection_

“He was going outside,” Bucky says, jabbing at the button again. “Oh god, he said he wanted to get outside-”

“Let me,” Jane says, and she reaches over and grabs the keyboard away from him. Bucky lets her, turning in his chair to bellow Tony’s name, heart twisted and snarled somewhere behind his ribcage.

 

* * *

 

Bucky sits in the round window, staring out at nothing. It's cold, he notices. The metal behind his back and beneath his feet, too cold to let him get properly comfortable. He doesn’t even flinch as he hears footsteps walking up behind him.

“Buck,” Steve’s voice says gently. “You want to come for dinner?”

“I’m alright,” Bucky says. “I’ll get something later.”

“He’s going to be alright,” Steve says quietly. “Jane said the storm should be passing over.”

“He was going outside,” Bucky says. “If he got caught up in that he’s good as dead.”

There’s a long pause. He can hear Steve breathing. The world outside the Highway is silent and still, nothing to show that there's a storm raging on the surface of Mars, winds of eighty kilometres per hour whipping thousands of tonnes of suffocating dust over the cratered surface in vicious gales. No. Everything up here is suspended in perfect silence, and it makes Bucky want to scream, to try and shatter it. He doesn't, because he knows it's impossible. He'll just have to stow it, and keep the restless twist in his chest locked down right where it is.

“We’ll keep trying,” Steve finally says. “You want anything?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Bucky says. The specks of light beyond the glass blur. He blinks, the stars coming back into focus. They sit silently, oblivious to the turmoil that is happening millions of miles away.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**[Sol 21 - Journal Entry RE: i am the master of space fuck you technology]**

I am alive! Nobody panic!

Oh man, Bucky is going to think that I killed myself trying to get out the airlock. For the record, honored citizens of Mars, I did not. I went out, shot my bow (felt so good to get to shoot that I nearly came, by the way) and got back in safe and sound. Went to make a cup of coffee, sat down to bask in the joy of being able to shoot again and then thought ‘oh what’s that noise’. Turns out that noise was a giant fucking space storm which decided to rise up out of nowhere and beat the shit out of the station and fuck up all the solar panels. That meant I ended up on backup generator power, which literally just deals with climate. So I didn’t freeze or burn or explode, but I lost communications and the goddamn microwave.

I’ll admit it was a bit of a downer after a freaking awesome day. Though I got to prove that I am not an utterly useless Avenger by going out and fixing the solar panels and getting everything up running again. Cool, huh? Technology is so my bitch - just call me Clint Stark. Ew, no. Actually don’t, and I’m going to pretend I never said that.

Okay. Everything is holding, so I better call the Highway before they pronounce me dead or something.

****

* * *

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Bucky is up out of the chair in such haste that he nearly trips over. Similarly jolted into action by the beeping, Steve also scrambles up towards Jane’s computer. Either the unexpected beeping or the two super soldiers lunging her way scares the crap out of her, because she gasps and flails and knocks a mug off of her workbench. It hits the floor with a thud but luckily doesn’t break - not that anyone is paying it any attention.

“Answer it,” Steve says, and turns to shout over his shoulder. “Tony!”

“I am, I am!” Jane says, grabbing a book and shoving it at Bucky so she can get at her keyboard. Bucky takes the book from her and immediately tosses it aside, leaning over the back of her chair, heart hammering in his chest.

Jane opens up the comms tab, opens the call. They all collectively hold their breath-

“Surprise! I’m alive!”

Jane curses and Steve tips his head back in sheer relief, hands tightening reflexively on the back of Jane’s chair. For his part, Bucky doesn’t know whether he wants to kiss Clint or throttle him. “Oh my god, where have you _been?!_ ”

Clint beams proudly at them. He’s wearing his  EVA suit, the helmet sat on the workbench just in front of him. The purple and grey fabric is coated in red-orange dust and he’s got a scuff on his forehead, darkening into a bruise.

“Storm knocked out the solar panels, so the station went to backup power,” he says brightly, like he’s not been missing for the past twenty hours. “I fixed them.”

Bucky just shakes his head, unable to find the words. He knows what relief feels like, and is never quite prepared for the rush that comes with unexpected good news, especially as his brain tends to automatically brace itself for the worst.

“Is he alive?!” Tony’s voice shouts from somewhere within the Highway. “What did he do?”

“He’s fine,” Steve calls back, and then laughs. “You are fine, right?”

“I am not only fine, but I am the best engineer on Mars,” Clint says, smiling somewhat apologetically. “I’m sorry guys, I called the moment I got everything back online.”

“I thought you’d fallen in a crater or been swept away in that damn storm,” Bucky says. “Last I hear is you’re going outside and then you vanish-”

“Not great timing, Clint,” Jane adds ruefully.

Clint looks slightly offended. “I’ll tell the great storm god in the sky to pick his moments better,” he says. “I didn’t exactly plan to scare anyone-”

“We were just worried,” Steve interjects. “We’re really glad you’re okay, Clint.”

“I'm okay,” Clint says and grins again as Tony appears, jostling Steve out of the way so he can lean in and check that Clint is in one piece. “Technology is my bitch,” he says to Tony, who barks out a laugh.

“Nice work,” he says.  “I knew the whole incompetent thing was an act.”

“Did still manage to get left on Mars,” Clint says, pointing finger guns at Tony. “Keeping expectations of me nice and low.”

“You bet you are,” Tony says. “Need me to talk you through anything?”

“No, I’m good,” Clint says, and yawns widely. “I need to shower and sleep. Not necessarily in that order.”

Tony nods. “We’ll leave you to it then,” he says. “No more scaring us just to get attention, Hawkeye. These guys have been unbearable. All sad and brooding. Especially this one,” he says with a grin, tipping his head towards Bucky.

Clint splays a gloved hand over his heart. “You were really that worried about little old me?” he asks, batting his eyelashes. “Aw, shucks.”

“More like I was depressed because I had no-one to complain to about these guys’ incessant flirting and her science jibber jabber,” Bucky says, and both Steve and Jane made indignant sounds.

Clint laughs, long and loud. “Tell me about it later?”

“Seven PM, I’ll be there,” Bucky confirms.

“It’s a date,” Clint manages to say through a massive yawn, and then he waves and reaches out to turn off the monitor.

Silence falls as the screen winks out. Bucky sits very still, not making eye contact with anyone, just waiting to see which one will be brave enough - or dumb enough - to say it-

“A date?”

“Shut up, Steve.”

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 30 - Journal Entry RE: am i the king of mars?]**

I am the best engineer on Mars, and the best archer in the solar system, and I am pretty sure that I can find an old obscure law somewhere which means I can claim I’m the rightful king of this planet.

If I’m king of Mars I need a crown, right?

 

* * *

 

“Well, I’m just saying that if no-one ever expects me to pull anything out the bag, then our odds of winning are probably higher. Like oh no, we’re down to the wire, all is lost - hang on, no it’s not, Hawkeye is here!”

Clint throws the tennis ball at the floor again. It bounces up off the wall, off the carefully positioned screen and then back to his hand without him having to so much as reach out for it. He’s wearing yet another purple T-shirt and the same pair of sweats he’s been wearing for the past god knows how long, but today has accessorized with what appears to be a crown made out of pieces of wire and spare bits of foil shielding. It keeps catching in the light, glints of silver that draw the eye.

“So you want to be the one dramatically saving the day?” Bucky asks as he sips his coffee.

“No, I just want to keep some skill in the bank, you know?” The tennis ball gets thrown again, a perfect path from surface to surface.

“It’s not your skill you’re keeping hidden though is it, it’s your intelligence,” Bucky points out. “And your common sense.”

Clint laughs at that. This time the ball gets thrown directly down; it bounces up, hits the ceiling and then lands back in his lap.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Maybe I just don’t want any responsibility.”

“That sounds more like you,” Bucky says. “Anyway, it’s not like you can ever ease up on the skill around here.”

“Hmmm, especially not with Steve around,” Clint says, pulling his knees down and spinning his chair, pulling himself up to the desk. He reaches for his own cup, blowing at it. Steam rises from the mug and he huddles into it, reaching up with a hand to scratch at his hair under the edge of his crown. “The guy should come with a warning. _'Everyone in a ten meter radius will feel an inexplicable urge to be their very best.'_ ”

Bucky laughs out loud at that. “Don’t I know it, pal,” he says. “I’ve been living up to his standards since the forties.”

“Did he insist he didn’t have any back then too?” Clint says, and Bucky nods, still laughing.

“The whole _‘you’ve got nothing to prove to me,’_ shtick?” he grins. “Yeah, like I believe that for a moment.”  

Clint sips his drink nodding in agreement. “Oh, hey. I thought of something today.”

“Yeah?”

“If I punch myself in the face and it hurts,” Clint says slowly and thoughtfully. “Does that make me weak or strong?”

Bucky just stares at him. “Outstanding.”

“Asking the important stuff here,” Clint says. “Philosophy on Mars.”

“Well to answer your question, I think it would make you an idiot.”

Clint grins. “I can live with that.” He pulls his feet down and stretches, arms up high above his head before slumping back down with a satisfied grunt. “Okay, I have to go. Citizens to oversee, lands to terrorize, a throne to defend and all that.”

Bucky blinks. Suddenly the crown makes sense, if it can be called sense. “Did you declare yourself King of Mars?”

Pointing at his head, Clint grins. “You really think I’d be wearing a crown if I weren’t king of Mars? Jeez, I’m not a crazy person.”

“The jury is most definitely out on that one,” Bucky says firmly. “Go and rule your kingdom.”

“With an iron fist? No - with an adamantium fist!” Clint says and Bucky pointedly sticks an adamantium middle finger up at him.

“I’ll give you an adamantium fist,” he says. “See you later, Clint.”

Clint blows him a kiss and then cuts the call.

“And you were bitching about me flirting?” an amused voice says from the doorway, and Bucky turns to see Steve ducking into the space, wrapped up in a hooded top that has _‘Brooklyn’_ scrawled over the chest.

“Shut up, Steve,” Bucky says, reaching over to swipe the monitor with his hand, shutting down the communications tab. “He’s not flirting.”

“Well he doesn’t blow anyone else kisses,” Steve says with an annoyingly knowing lift of his eyebrow. “And he doesn’t seem to enjoy talking to me half as much as you.”

Bucky just shrugs. Steve is standing in front of the small doorway so there’s a pretty large super-soldier shaped roadblock scuppering Bucky’s chances of escaping from this conversation.

“He’s a good friend, I guess. I like him. Pity it took this for us to get to know each other better.”

“He likes you too,” Steve says, mouth turning up in a soft gentle smile.

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky says. “Stop lookin’ at me like that. Not everybody goes to space and suddenly wants to screw everyone.”

“Not everyone. I certainly don’t want to screw you or Jane.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Bucky says, and pushes himself up out of the chair. “Now move your ass before I throw it out the airlock.”

“Touchy,” Steve says, but he’s grinning. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Your ass. Airlock,” Bucky says, threatening.

“Whoa, that’s a little forwards there, Buck. Buy a guy dinner first. Anyway, you said no screwing in the airlock,” Steve’s grin turns from amused to shit-eating and Bucky officially gives up.

 

* * *

 

** [Sol 33 - Journal Entry RE: - if I have to watch die hard one more time I’m going to kill everything on this planet OH WAIT THERE IS NOTHING.] **

Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker.

****

* * *

 

“I have watched all six of my films over ten times,” Clint whines, pulling his blanket up around his shoulders and generally looking very small and pathetic. Oddly, it makes Bucky want to pet him. Literally. Sit with him and stroke a hand over his wayward hair, gently rub his shoulders. “All there is to shoot is rocks. I’m so bored I’m going to die.”

“What films did you take?” Bucky asks curiously.

“Die Hard, Die Hard Two, Die Hard With a Vengeance, Live Free or Die Hard, A Good Day to Die Hard and Legally Blonde.”

“Legally Blonde?”

“Elle Woods is a hero and I will not be told otherwise,” Clint says, pointing a finger at the screen. “She taught me the true value of people underestimating your smarts.”

Bucky, who has never seen Legally Blonde and has next to no idea what Clint is talking about, decides just to nod. “Okay then.”

“I was going to bring Titanic, but a disaster movie didn’t seem the best bet,” Clint says with a glum sigh. “In retrospect it probably would have helped me feel better about this whole thing. At least there’s no icebergs up here.”

“I know Steve brought some films with him too,” Bucky says. “Probably a load of animated shit or war films. He likes to bitch about historical inaccuracies.”

Clint perks up a little, but then slumps back down again. “Doesn’t exactly help me,” he says. “Even if he did and even if he did put them on the server up here I can’t get in his files. I’m no hacker.”

“You can only get into your station drive, right?” Bucky muses.

“Yeah,” Clint says. “And I may have tried to get into Tony's, but the bitch locked me out after getting his password wrong five times.”

“What did you try?”

“ _Tony is the best, Tony is the best_ no spaces, _Stark is the best, Tony Stark is the best_ and _I love Steve’s ass._ ”

“Oh my god, Clint.”

“It was a long shot, but I haven’t exactly got much else to do.”

Bucky eyes him thoughtfully. “Leave it with me,” he says, already reaching out to hit the button that will end the call. “I’ll see what I can do.”

****

* * *

 

“Tony opened up the servers for you.”

Clint’s mouth falls open. “Really?!” he asks, looking giddily excited. “You asked him?”

Bucky nods. “Yep,” he says. “Didn’t take all that much convincing, really. And Steve says there’re quite a few films on his drive, help yourself.”

Clint scrambles for the keyboard, nearly knocking over a mug in his haste. “I'll call you back at seven,” he says. “This is like Christmas.”

“Good thing you’re easily entertained,” says Bucky, and somewhere in his chest he feels an odd swell that’s definitely fondness.

“You know me, totally low maintenance,” Clint says, and it’s clear he’s already distracted with delving into whatever he can find on Steve’s station drive. “Lucky is harder to look after than me.”

“You’re a grown man, surely you should be able to look after yourself?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint says dismissively, flapping a hand at him. “Whatever you say, _Steve._ ”

Bucky flips him off and cuts the call, turning off the monitor. He sits back in his chair, rubbing absently at his sternum. He’s done fuck all, really; asked Tony to remotely adjust the security settings on the station’s servers, but it seems like a much bigger deal than it was considering how happy it made Clint.

And now he’s abruptly realizing that making Clint happy is making him happy.

Nevermind Steve, Bucky thinks with a rueful smile. He’s half tempted to throw himself out of the damn airlock.

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 35 - Journal Entry RE: HOLY SHIT CAPTAIN AMERICA WATCHES PORN.]**

oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god

****

* * *

 

“Tell him,” Steve says, shoving Bucky down into the chair and pointing at Jane’s monitor. “Tell him that it isn’t mine.”

“Hey, it was on your drive, pal,” Bucky says, biting back a grin. “And we get it, Mars gets mighty lonely. No judgement here.”

“Tell him,” Steve says again, and then turns around as they hear Tony cackling with laughter in the background. “I’m not done with you yet!” he yells back at him. “You can’t just do things like that!”

“What?!” Tony yells back. “I was making sure you had plenty of viewing material on those long, cold, Martian nights.”

“You’re an asshole,” Steve shouts back, and then turns his attention to Bucky. “Call Clint and _tell him._ ”

“I don’t want to take that away from him,” Bucky protests. “He thinks Captain America watches bad porn on space missions. It’s the most entertaining thing to happen to him since he got stranded.”

Steve huffs out a breath. “Tell him that the shocking quality, clearly staged, utterly cringeworthy porn is not mine,” he says, and pauses. “And then tell him if he really wants to be entertained, he can look in that sketchbook he found under my bed.”

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 36 - Journal Entry RE: HOLY SHIT CAPTAIN AMERICA DRAWS PORN]**

oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god

****

* * *

 

“He says it’s not porn, it’s art,” Bucky says. Clint laughs even harder, sliding off of his chair and onto the floor, out of sight.

****

* * *

 

Space is huge.

Obviously, Bucky knows that, but it never really hits him until he’s in it. From the comfort of the Highway it’s almost a step removed, but out here with nothing between him and the emptiness but his EVA suit, it’s much more daunting.

“Up here, Buckaroo.”

Tony’s voice is quiet and tinny over the comms. Bucky looks up and slowly starts to pull himself along the outside of the Highway, up to where Tony is opening a panel on the side of the ship. They’re fixing the communications relays; the video feeds to both Earth and Mars have been lagging and dropping out, the problem growing steadily worse over the past few days. Bucky wouldn’t care, but if they lose their link to the Station then Clint will be utterly cut off until they get home.

“Here,” he says, pulling himself up alongside Tony and peering into the panel. “What’s it looking like?”

“Easy fix,” Tony replies. “Pull that panel out, the one marked eighty-three.”

Bucky does as told. It’s so quiet out here it’s unnerving; nothing but the sound of his own breathing to keep him company. He carefully levers the panel back and peers inside.

“And?”

“Are there four lights on?”

“Negative,” Bucky says. “Three.”

Tony curses. Moments later, Steve’s voice comes over the comms. “Language.”

“Fuck you, Cap,” Tony says cheerfully. “No-one around here to offend.”

“I’m offended,” Jane chips in.

“Fuck you too, Foster,” Tony says. “Hey, Bucky, did Steve ever tell you about his moment of genius when he realized the Helicarrier systems were, in fact, electronic?”

“I’d been awake for all of a week,” Steve says somewhat indignantly. “And that relay panel was something out of science fiction.”

“Well, I call bullshit seeing as the panel was actually very much real and very much in front of your face,” Tony says vaguely.

“I was being shot at,” Steve points out.

“And you did learn pretty quickly considering that fact,” Tony says. He grunts and pulls at something, and then bangs his armored hand against the panel next to the one he’s digging in. In Bucky’s panel, the fourth light blinks on.

“Four lights,” he says. “Did you just fix the spaceship by hitting it?”

“I might have done,” Tony says, closing the panels back up. “Go call your boyfriend and see if it works.”

Steve and Jane both snigger, and Bucky rolls his eyes. “Leaving you out here,” he informs Tony, starting to make his way back towards the airlock.

“You wouldn’t,” Tony says and then pauses. “Would you?”

Bucky doesn’t reply, just waves and carries on pulling himself back towards the airlock using his tether. As he goes, he lets himself look around at the distant specks of light, the part of the Earth that is visible around the edge of the Highway. He can’t see Mars from here, and as he stares out at the blackness that stretches on and on forever, he thinks about just how far away Clint actually is and hopes to all hell that the communications are fixed.  

 

* * *

 

“I’m okay,” Tony says as he pulls off his helmet, leaving his hair rumpled. Steve takes it from him, eyes concerned. “Quit looking at me like that, I do this all the time.”

“And every time I’m glad you made it back in,” Steve says, setting the helmet aside and reaching for Tony. He’s not even subtle; sliding palms onto Tony’s neck and stroking his jaw with his thumbs. Brows shooting up towards his hairline, Bucky abruptly turns away and faces Jane instead. She pulls a face, sticking her tongue out and grimacing. Bucky presses his lips together hard to stop himself from laughing; Tony and Steve don’t even notice; they’re already wandering off and talking about testing the communications, Steve still hovering protectively close to Tony.

Their voices disappear as they head down into the belly of the ship, and Jane turns to Bucky with a sigh.

“They are cute,” she says, and she steps over and reaches for Bucky’s helmet, pressing the buttons and snapping open the catch to release it. He nods his thanks and pulls it off, hair tumbling messily over his brow as he does.

“Cute my ass,” he says as Jane takes the helmet from him and sets it aside, the dull silver and deep scarlet of Bucky’s completely overwhelmed by the bright red and gold next to it.

“No, it’s nice to see Steve like this,” she says, reaching for Bucky’s hands and pulling off his gloves, nimble fingers making short work of the catches and seals. “He always seems lonely in a way. But I do wish they wouldn't be quite so...hands on in front of me when my boyfriend is millions of miles away.”

Bucky barks out a laugh, and then surprises himself by thinking of Clint grinning at him via a video feed, millions of miles away.

He sighs, scratching at his eyebrow with his thumb. “Yeah, and you know what? I think I’m starting to get how that feels.”

Jane's smile is bright and delighted. “Really?” she asks, and there’s something almost hopeful in the way she asks, a thrilled happy lilt to her voice like she wants Bucky to be feeling all weird about Clint.

“Not the same,” Bucky says. “But having someone you care about that far away…” He feels his stomach twisting, his neck heating. Oh hell - embarrassment. Not something he feels very often any more.

“Yeah,” Jane says simply. “I love space, but the distance part of it is a bitch.”

Bucky opens his mouth to deny, to divert. He can't. He just exhales heavily, and takes his gloves from Jane as she shoves them back at him. This time, her smile is quiet and understanding.

“Yeah,” he finally agrees. “The distance is definitely a bitch.”

****

* * *

 

“What if you had floated away.”

“I didn’t.”

“What if you had been electrocuted.”

“I wasn’t.”

“What if you had been hit by an asteroid.”

“I wasn’t.”

“What if your suit had ripped - oh my god, you would have exploded-”

“Clint,” Bucky interrupts firmly. “I have done spacewalks before. Why are you freaking out?”

Clint scowls. “I’m not!” he says. “I dunno. Who else is gonna check on me if you explode in space?”

“Um, Steve?” Bucky suggests. “Jane? Tony?”

Clint’s scowl deepens. “Alright, alright. Just - just don’t explode, okay?”

Bucky’s mouth twitches. “I’ll do my very best.”

Clint narrows his eyes at him and then seems to let the sarcasm go. He huffs and picks up his coffee, wrapping both hands around it to savor the warmth. Bucky mimics him, huddling back in Jane’s chair and sipping at his own drink. They sit quietly for a moment, Bucky idly wondering where Clint’s newfound protectiveness has come from, and why he feels a returning obligation to let Clint know he’s okay. It’s quiet and peaceful and comfortable between them; Bucky can just about hear Clint breathing over the feed.

“So, guess how many times I’ve jerked off since I got here?”

Bucky chokes on his drink. Eyes watering, he claps a palm over his mouth and puts the mug down. “Clint!” he exclaims, voice hoarse and catching. “You can't just say shit like that, _Jesus._ ”

“Go on, guess.”

“I am not guessing - why are we even having this conversation.”

“We’re bros now, this is what bros talk about. Come on, guess.”

“This is _not_ a bro thing, this is a you are weird thing.”

“Pleeease,” Clint wheedles. “Humor me. You left me on Mars.”

“Fine,” Bucky huffs, shaking his head. “I dunno. Twenty.”

“Twenty? I’ve been here for forty-three days.”

“So?”

Clint looks at him, somewhat offended. “I am a young male in his prime, who is alone on Mars with nothing to do.”

“Alright,” Bucky says, conceding the point. “Forty.”

“Higher.”

“Higher? Oh my god, Clint. More than once a day, really?”

“More than once a day after I found Steve’s stash of porn,” Clint grins.

“That is terrible porn and you know it,” Bucky says.

“Eh, the guy on girl stuff is awful, yeah,” Clint concedes, waving his hand like a see-saw. “The guy on guy isn’t so bad.”

Wait, what? Clint is watching guy on guy porn? But doesn’t he have a girlfriend back home? The memory of the talk he and Steve had about modern day sexuality pings in the back of Bucky’s brain, reminding him that just because Barton has a girlfriend, doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to like a dick or two as well. Same way that Bucky can appreciate a good rack on a dame and also a set of strong arms and shoulders on a fella.

Oh god. Embarrassment again, he’s had enough of this.

“How much porn did Tony put on that drive?”

“A lot,” Clint hums. “And it’s fifty-two.”

“Fifty-two?” Bucky gapes, brain stuttering as a rogue part of it tries to imagine Clint reaching number fifty two and the rest of it firmly says _‘no.’_ “Jesus Christ. You’ll go blind.”

“And I’d still be a better shot than you,” Clint says, a wicked glint in his eye that isn’t helping the rogue part of Bucky’s psyche to behave.

Bucky gives him the finger. “Lay off the porn, Clint. Go watch some Disney.”

“Give me one reason why I should,” Clint says. “It’s not affecting my schedule and I’m bored.”

Bucky sighs. He can’t exactly admit that Clint talking about porn is getting him hot and bothered, because teammate and girlfriend and it’s utterly ridiculous.  “You know what? You’re right. Go nuts. Call me when you get to a hundred and we’ll celebrate.”

Clint cackles with laughter. “You got a deal,” he says. “Now if you excuse me, I want to get fifty-three checked off before dinner.”

“Overshare,” Bucky yells at him as the video feed winks out. He sits there, shaking his head at the screen, and about jumps out of his skin when a voice calls through from the rec area.

“You are in no place to complain about Steve and Tony anymore!”

“Jesus, _fuck_ \- privacy, Foster!”

“You should have shut the hatch before you started talking about porn!” Jane yells back. “ _Men_ , honestly.”

Bucky slumps forwards and bangs his head against the workbench. He’s changed his mind; he hates this fuckin’ spaceship and everyone on it.

 

* * *

 

** [Sol 44 - Journal Entry RE: aw, mouth.] **

Okay, so today got weird. Really weird. I didn’t exactly plan on talking to Bucky about jerking off but being up here has scrambled my brain, it’s like I’ve got no filters when I’m talking to the guy now. And I think I accidentally sorta outed myself to him as well - I’m not a hundred percent but I don’t think he knew I swung both ways until I made the comment about the porn. He’s hard to read some days, but I think that did catch him off guard. Oh man, I hope it doesn’t make it weird now. Well, weirder than it is.

Though in retrospect, if i had a time machine and could undo one conversation I’d probably go back and undo the bit where I was freaking out about him space-walking. He’s the Winter Soldier for fucks sake; he can handle himself ten times over. And Tony was out there too and it didn’t even cross my mind.

So either I think Bucky is less competent than Tony, or Bucky means more than Tony does. Considering that contemplating talking to Tony about porn makes my dick want to run away and hide, it’s probably the latter.

Oh man. Hawkeye, you ridiculous fucking idiot.

I should probably stop talking to Bucky as much. If I’ve ended up with a crush on the guy, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Oh my god, I can literally hear the Kate voice in my brain yelling at me to talk to him. Which is the exact opposite of what I want to do, but Kate has been there through all of my romantic car crashes and she’s always right, dammit. So no running away this time. Though there’s not exactly far I can run. Ironic considering I’m on an utterly empty planet, right?

 

* * *

 

“So. You didn’t mind me running my mouth yesterday?”

Bucky sighs through his nose, rubbing his brow with metal fingers. Clint looks small and sad and Bucky knows that he’s spent the last twenty four hours worrying that’s he’s overshared and fucked up. Just like Bucky has spent the last twenty four hours worrying that he’s getting too attached. Right now though, looking over Clint who is sitting there scrunched up in his chair, wrapped in what looks like all the blankets in the station and with a small hopeful look on his face, it feels like just about the perfect level of attached.

“I think I’m getting rather attached to you running your mouth,” he says, even though his stomach twists unhappily as Clint grins back at him. That smile doesn’t belong to him. It belongs to Clint’s girlfriend.

Clint wriggles in his blankets. “I’m really glad I’ve got you,” he says, not looking up. “This Mars shit is easier with you around. Well, not around. You know what I mean.”

Bucky swallows. “I’m here,” he promises, and Clint looks up and smiles.

****

* * *

 

**[Sol 52 - Journal Entry RE: what do you call a fish with no eyes?]**

A FSSSSSH

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 56 - Journal Entry RE: new career in marketing]**

Why aren’t iPhone chargers called apple juice?

****

* * *

 

“Clint. What are you doing.”

Both amused and mystified, Bucky watches as Clint appears back in the video feed, waltzing slowly across the room until he disappears out of frame again. Over the speakers Bucky can hear some very loud obnoxious pop music playing, which doesn’t seem to match the slow meandering waltz that Clint has got going on.

“I,” Clint says, appearing again in a smooth one-two-three one-two-three, arms held up as if holding an imaginary partner, “Am learning to dance.”

“You’re waltzing,” Bucky says. “To Nicki Minaj.”

“How do you know Nicki Minaj?” Clint asks, slowly lifting his arms and twirling around. “You’re old, you don’t know Nicki Minaj. It’s _'Starships.'_  Appropriate.”

“You are the single most ridiculous human being I have ever met.”

“Says you,” Clint says. He brings one knee up, holds his hands together in front of his chest with his fingertips touching, pirouetting around. He stops with his side to Bucky and performs a complicated little hop to the side, toes pointed and hands held steady at his sides.

“I thought we we waltzing,” Bucky says. “That's ballet.”

“Natasha taught me,” Clint replies, and he’s twisting around to the beat of the music and then shimmying over in a strange sort of slide, socked feet garnering no friction against the floor. He’s all compact muscle and strength, and it’s impressive even if he is using said strength and control to dance like an idiot. “Tell Jane to thank Darcy for the music.”

Bucky nods but he won’t; he’s met Darcy once and she made the most inappropriate comment about his arm that he’s ever heard. Even Tony Stark hadn’t been that ballsy when they’d first met.

The track finishes and immediately is succeeded by another loud and brash pop song. Clint doesn’t stop dancing; he’s back to waltzing but adding random twists and turns at intervals that follow no discernible pattern, leaping from space to space in one footed lunges. Bucky just watches him for a moment, and even though part of him is thinking _‘what an idiot’_ the rest of him is possibly slightly envious at how few fucks Clint clearly gives. It’s an odd sort of freedom, he thinks, to not care about what other people think. Though he knows by now there are parts of Clint that care - possibly too much. The parts that demand he can level with a team of superheroes. The parts that are always worrying about what Steve thinks.

Some of them are the same for him. He knows what it’s like to worry about what Steve thinks. He knows what it’s like to feel like you have to level with a team of heroes, when you’ve not exactly been one of the good guys.

His idle musings are interrupted as Clint leaps over the back of his chair, sliding into it in an oddly elegant move that reminds Bucky of Natasha. He reaches for a bottle of water, cracking the top off and taking several long swallows. His throat moves as he does and Bucky makes himself looks away.

“You okay?” Clint asks.

Bucky nods. “Getting a bit twitchy,” he admits after a moment. “Confined.”

Clint nods. “Not a historically good feeling for you?”

“No,” Bucky says, “and I know it’s nothing like that. But it’s in the back of my brain. I can’t do anything about where I am. Choice is out of my hands.”

Wiping his wrist across his brow - he’s clearly been at the dancing a while- Clint nods in sympathy. “Sucks,” he says simply, not offering any useless platitudes or pointless advice. “You got it in hand?” He looks satisfied with Bucky’s nod. “Only four more days, right?”

Bucky nods. “Then nineteen days back on Earth, then coming straight back out again.”

Clint pauses at that. “You don’t have to.”

“I’m coming,” Bucky says in a tone that brooks no argument, and wait is Clint blushing? He totally is.

“So, I’m gonna practice my baltzing some more,” he says, and then clarifies with, “ballet waltzing.”

“You do that,” Bucky says. “Don’t forget lunch today, idiot.”

“Yes boss,” Clint says and cuts the feed.

God, Bucky misses that man so much it’s like stomach ache. He doesn’t get how it’s possible though, seeing as before they started talking he barely knew Clint at all. Bucky shakes his head at himself and leaves the cockpit area, ducking through into the rec room. The others are all there; Tony is faffing about with a tiny piece of something and a screwdriver; Jane is reading what looks like a trashy romance novel, her feet kicked up into Steve’s lap; Steve is reading a book of his own, absently kneading at Jane’s feet with his fingers.

Bucky ducks through the room into the sleeping quarters at the back. He heads for his own bunk and then hesitates, ducking into Clint’s instead. He settles on his back, blinking slowly at the metal above him, turning his head to the side to look at the photos. He likes the one of the team. Post battle, outside Grand Central which is miraculously intact. They’re all sitting on or sprawled against the shell of a collapsed robot. Tony has both gauntleted hands raised, fingers in victory V’s and the others are all laughing. Clint has his bow in hand and isn’t looking at the camera, leaning forwards and mid-laugh.

Bucky doesn’t like the photo of the girl with the bow so much. She’s probably a lovely girl and all that, but Bucky’s own feelings towards Clint mean that he can’t exactly play nice.  

“Er, Buck, you know that’s not your bunk, right?”

“Oh my god will you give me five fucking minutes to myself?” he bursts out, frustration finally spilling over. “Privacy!”

He yanks the curtain over Clint’s bunk as he hears Steve’s footsteps swiftly retreating. He scowls at the ceiling again, breathing out deeply and reminding himself that he’s only got four more days, and then he can have a breather.

Before he does it all again.

Nevermind Clint, he’s clearly the idiot here.

 

* * *

 

“Whoa, Clint, what? Calm down!”

Alarmed, Bucky leans in towards the screen and tries to make sense of the wails that are currently being muffled by Clint’s palms.

Clint drags his hands away from his face, looking horrified. “I ran out of coffee.”

“Oh, _shit,_ ” Bucky presses his fingers to his mouth. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“There are two boxes left and I knew there were two boxes left but they’re decaf,” Clint says, clearly distressed.. “What am I going to do? Oh my god, I’ve got ninety days left with nothing but decaf, I’m going to die. That’s it, I’m going to go out there naked, it’ll be less painful than no coffee-”

“No walking on Mars naked,” Bucky interjects loudly, and spares a moment to be grateful he shut the hatch to the rec room today. “Clint, it’s not the end of the world, get a grip.”

“I miss real coffee, and I miss pizza,” Clint says, his hands on his head. His eyes are wide and he’s starting to look a little unhinged. “I miss New York and shitty vendor food and I miss Nat and I miss my bed and I miss Lucky-”

“The girlfriend too, I bet.”

Clint stops, looking confused. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to look taken aback. “The photo in your bunk?”

The horrified expression returns. “Oh god, no! That’s Kate - she’s my sidekick, she’s not my girlfriend, she’s like twelve and a brat-”

“She is _not_ twelve,” Bucky says in adamant disbelief.

“No but she might as well be,” Clint says. “God, she’s not my - no. Just no.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says weakly. “I assumed.”

“Oh my god, never assume,” Clint says. “Brain bleach. I need brain bleach for you even suggesting that.”

“I said sorry, didn’t I?” Bucky says, a little waspish. He’s kicking himself for assuming and getting it wrong - Natasha will have a field day if she finds out he got something this wrong.

Clint stares at him. Bucky stares back. The conversation is abruptly killed by Bucky snapping, and he’s not a hundred percent clear on how to proceed. His brain seems to have gone into shutdown - too much input and no viable outcome or solution seems to be presenting itself. He can practically feel his brain going into risk, assess, prioritise mode, distractedly thinking that if Clint is single then there could be something going on here, but he stalls on the risk part of the mission because there are so many risks, to him and Clint and the team-

“Did I break your brain somehow?” Clint ventures tentatively after a while.

“No,” Bucky manages to say, shaking his head. “I got my parameters wrong. Had to-”

He breaks off but Clint nods, understanding. “Sorry,” he says. “Thought you knew. Man, I was talking to you about jerking off - that would be crossing a line if I had a girlfriend.”

“I never know where the lines are with you,” Bucky admits.

It goes silent again for a moment. Clint fidgets, and Bucky quashes the urge to do the same.

“This is awkward,” Clint says.

“A little.”

Clint winces. “Talk to you later?”

“Yep,” Bucky says too quickly. “Later.”

The screen winks out and Bucky is left staring at his reflection, cursing himself for being such a dumbass. Why the hell did that descend into awkwardness? He’s has to adjust parameters before, had to rethink an op in light of new intel-

“Oh, hell,” he groans, slumping forwards, because if he arranges all the new information just so, he can only conclude that the revelation of Clint being single has made things weird because it’s opened up avenues for a completely new mission, one he thought was off-limits before.

 

* * *

 

****

“So. You know that picture of that girl in Clint’s bunk?”

Still running on the treadmill at his ridiculous inhuman pace, Steve looks up. “Kate?”

“Yeah. Kate, apparently.”

Steve nods, looks down at the console and presses a button a couple of times, slowing down a fraction. “What about her?”

“I thought she was Clint’s girlfriend.”

Steve staggers slightly, nearly pitching himself off the treadmill; it’s only his enhanced reflexes that keep him from ending up on his star-spangled ass. “Oh, god no!” he says, grimacing.

“Funny, that’s exactly when Clint said when I mentioned it,” Bucky says moodily.

“You asked him about it?”

Bucky huffs, leans back against the wall with his ankles crossed, picking moodily at his reheated noodles. “No, I assumed and put my foot in my mouth.”

“Welcome to my life,” Steve huffs out a laugh, still running like he hasn’t done thirty miles already. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Don’t worry about it. Did he laugh or look horrified?”

“Horrified,” Bucky sighs, twisting his fork around in his noodles. He pauses, then lifts his chin.

“So...Clint doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Nope.”

“No other girls, other than Kate?”

“No. He has a boyfriend though.”

_“What?!”_

“Yeah. Tall brunette guy. Bit of a grouch but a good sense of humor. Good with guns. Oh, and he has a metal arm-”

Bucky scowls. “Fuck you, Steve.”

“Not on the spaceship, you made the rule.”

Bucky flings a piece of noodle at Steve; he laughs and tries to bat it away, grinning. It lands on his shoulder and he plucks it off and pops it in his mouth and then reaches for the console again, bringing the treadmill to a stop.

“Hey,” he says, and he’s smiling. He braces his feet on the panels either side of the running belt, leaning forwards over the console, not bothering to cool down properly. “Just so you know. Clint is a romantic trainwreck. And this is coming from me. If he’s being open with you about his feelings, then it’s a big deal for him. His style is usually denial and self-sabotage until the feelings go away.”

Bucky stares at him. “And why are you telling me this?”

Steve rolls his eyes and hops off the treadmill, stepping over and taking Bucky’s fork from unresisting fingers, helping himself to a mouthful of noodles.

“You know why, jerk,” he says, and pats Bucky on the shoulder before wandering off and leaving Bucky to try and work out what's just happened.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**[Sol 61: Is there a real word for a metal arm fetish I need google help]**  

I’m not saying I have a thing for Bucky’s arm, but I did have a fucking crazy hot dream about him that might have involved his arm. Or maybe it’s the rest of him that’s crazy fucking hot and the metal arm is just sort of there?

Okay, so now rule number eight of being left on Mars is no jerking off while thinking about Bucky or his metal arm. Number sixty three will have to wait until I’ve managed to successfully forget that dream.

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 62: fuck]**

Sixty five.

 

* * *

 

“So, re-entry,” Clint says, perfectly straight faced. It lasts all of a second and then his mouth twitches and he descends into laughter again, slumping back against the wall and holding onto his stomach. He’s wearing sweats and no shirt today; Bucky’s unscheduled call had caught him in the middle of his daily exercise routine.   

Bucky rolls his eyes. “What are you, twelve?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Clint says, still fighting back giggles. “I can talk about it. I can talk about it, I’m fine.”

“Say it, then,” Bucky says flatly, folding his arms across his chest.

“Re-entry,” Clint says, but he’s already laughing helplessly. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Twelve,” Bucky sighs. He’s not sure about Clint’s sense of humor some days; he likes the sarcasm and the dark twists of black that Clint laces into his running commentary on daily life, but with that he has to take the plethora of butt jokes and innuendo that Clint also seems to have an endless supply of.

Though right now Clint is shirtless and moving back into position to do more push ups, and that’s tipping the scales in his favor.

“Nervous?” Clint asks, planting his fists on the floor and pushing himself up; the tilt of the laptop giving Bucky an unimpeded view of his back and shoulders. A view that Bucky is fully allowing himself to appreciate now that he knows that he’s allowed to look and isn’t crossing any lines concerning Clint’s non-existent girlfriend.

“No,” Bucky says. “Nerves get you killed.”

Clint snorts, not looking up. “Terminator.”

“Won’t be able to call you until we’re back. Possibly forty-eight hours,” Bucky says, waiting to see how Clint reacts. To his surprise, Clint just nods.

“Gottit.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Clint says, still concentrating on his push-ups. He lifts up, holds the position and lifts his chin, turning his head to grin at Bucky. “Means I’m halfway, baby.”

Bucky raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Baby?”

“I’m happy, sue me,” Clint says, flopping down onto his front and then rolling over, clambering to his feet and sitting in the chair, pushing the laptop screen up so Bucky can see his face rather than just his crotch and abs. “When you land that’s the furthest away from me you’ll be. After that, you’ll just be getting closer again.”

“Still a long way to go,” Bucky reminds him. Movement catches his eye; he looks around to see Tony stepping through the hatch, nodding at him. Time to get ready.

“Killjoy,” Clint says, reaching for his cup.

Bucky smiles. “I gotta go, Clint. We’re getting set up for landing.”

Clint nods. There’s no uneasiness in his smile, no bitterness or worry. “Stay safe,” he says. “No exploding.”

“Do my best,” Bucky replies. He salutes the screen and Clint laughs, and then abruptly leans forwards and kisses the screen, before pulling back with a pink-cheeked grin. “Stay safe,” he says again, and then he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

The Highway shakes so violently that it feels like it’s going to tear itself apart. The vibrations shake Bucky to his very core, juddering so hard he has to either clench his jaw or keep his mouth open to stop his teeth clacking painfully together. Opposite him, Steve is sitting and looking supremely unconcerned, glancing up and around like he’s waiting in the goddamn barbers or riding the subway. Tony and Jane are in the pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats respectively, and seem calm from what Bucky can make out of their murmured voices. 

Yawning, Bucky settles back into his seat, thinking absently about Clint kissing the screen as he waved goodbye, mentally counting down the minutes until his feet are back on Earth.

 

* * *

 

The ship has barely settled before Bucky is out of his seat, wrestling with the straps and lunging for the door. Steve is right behind him, and then Tony is hitting the controls to re-stabilize the pressure and release the door seals. 

“Come on, come on,” he mutters, gloved fingers pulling ineffectually at the straps and seals of his helmet. “Get me out of this fish tank.”

Both airlock doors open simultaneously, flooding the interior of the cockpit with white winter light. Bucky is jumping down the steps before they’ve fully extended, landing on the tarmac with a thud, knees bending slightly to take the brunt of the impact. Steve drops down next to him, light as a cat even in his damn EVA suit.

“Here,” he says, and turns Bucky to face him. Bucky holds out a hand and Steve fumbles with the catches. The moment Bucky’s hand is free he deals with the other glove, dropping them onto the wet floor before grappling his his helmet.

He wrenches it free and gasps in a huge breath of cold air. God, it feels so good, fresh and sharp in his mouth; he knows it makes no sense but it tastes like Earth, not like the recycled air conditioned oxygen of the Highway.

It’s bittersweet. With every part of him that’s grateful to be back on Earth, there’s a part of him that can’t forget about Clint. Though it’s not lost on him that had Clint not been left behind, they probably wouldn’t have gotten to know each other as well as they have done. They’d have finished this mission and parted as maybe casual friends, more like acquaintances. Bucky would have gone back to the apartment he and Steve share in Brooklyn, and Clint would have gone back to Bed Stuy. They would go back to meeting twice a week for Avengers business, with the occasional extra meeting when they were called to assemble.

Maybe, when they land next time, he’ll be able to join Clint back at his apartment. Or his, if Steve can be persuaded to go to the tower with Tony; he doesn’t think it’d take a lot.

A gloved hand punches at the back of his shoulder. He shakes off the thoughts of Clint, turns and reaches out to unclip Steve’s gloves in return. Behind Steve’s shoulder, he can see Tony and Jane disembarking and calling back and forth about unloading samples, already having shed their helmets and gloves.

“Ohh that feels good,” Bucky groans, reaching up to run his hands through his hair.

Steve hums in agreement, freeing himself from his EVA helmet and turning his face up into the sunlight. “Make the most of it,” he says. “Nineteen days.”

There’s a shout from nearby; they look around to see Maria Hill, several SHIELD agents and a few lawyer-types striding out from the control building.

“Here’s the welcome party,” Bucky says. A cold breeze tugs at his hair; he’s too enamored with the feel of it to even mind the cold.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a party,” Steve sighs. “Debrief and then a disciplinary.”

“Who the fuck has the authority to call _you_ in for a disciplinary?”

“The WSC,” Steve says, watching Maria and the others draw closer with a look of mild distaste curling the corner of his mouth. They look grim and unimpressed even from here. He shakes his head. “One of these days I’m going to tell them to back off and butt out of our business.”

“You do that pal,” Bucky says vaguely. “I’m going to get the hell out of here before they try and make me sit through debrief.”

“You were part of the mission, you can be part of the debrief,” Steve says.

From nowhere, there’s a sudden gust of wind that almost knocks Bucky off his feet. He throws out a hand and Steve grabs his shoulder to steady him; out of the corner of his eye he sees the snap of a red cape and then alarms start to blare from the control building.

“Oh look, a diversion,” he says, and ducks out from under Steve’s hand. “See you later. let me know if the WSC arrest you.”  

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe he’s still on Mars,” Natasha says, sitting cross legged on the edge of Bucky’s bed and watching him as he plugs in the hard drive Tony had handed to him before he and Steve were strong-armed off to debriefing. Bucky and Jane had mercifully managed to escape the _‘explain where Clint was’_ fiasco; Bucky by way of busying himself with weapons and glaring, and Jane by way of being - literally - swept off her feet by Thor before she’d even cleared the landing site. 

“He's okay,” Bucky says, efficiently connecting cables and turning on the power. “Holding out pretty well, considering.”

“Considering you left him on Mars,” Natasha says without inflection.  

“We’re going back to get him,” Bucky says, and turns to look at her. She looks away and it’s in that single moment he realizes how upset she is. “Nineteen days and then we’re off again.”

The computer blinks into life; Bucky turns to it, metal fingers tapping at keys as Tony taught him, opening up lines and lines of code that he has to tweak to be able to contact the station. It should be easy with the technological shortcuts that Tony had loaded onto the hard drive for him, but he’ll be happier when he’s got it all working.

“I want to go,” Natasha says.

“Not my call,” Bucky says, tapping a key and watching the lines of code run over the screen. Satisfied, he turns and pulls out a flash drive from his pocket, plugging it into the other side of his laptop. The screen flickers and then opens up an interface identical to the ones on the Highway.  

“Are you going back to get him?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? There’s no Destroyers this time around; it’s a milk run, not a fight. You wouldn’t be needed.”

Bucky pauses. “I’m part of the team that left him, so I’m going to get him.”

She doesn’t reply, and he refuses to say more. It’s the oldest trick in the book; don’t reply, and you will get a better answer without even having to ask for it. He taps the communications tab, clicks the link for the Station and holds his breath.

“You’re alive! Hell yes!”

Clint appears, wearing both his crown and a bright green woolly jumper that has a hole in the collar, holding up a sign that has _‘congratulations on not exploding,’_ scrawled across it in red sharpie.  

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky says, but he feels something that’s been tightly wound in his chest settle back into place, appeased. “I’ve got something for you.”

Clint puts the sign down, cocking his head quizzically. “What?”

In lieu of an answer, Bucky pushes the computer around so Clint can see Natasha, still perched on the edge of Bucky’s bed. Clint gasps and leans forwards, mouth falling open. “Nat! Nat, they left me on Mars!”

Natasha smiles, standing up and stepping closer. “Ty durak,” she says, reaching out and brushing her fingers across the screen. “You got yourself left on Mars.”

Clint’s expression goes crestfallen. “Be nice to me.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says, and gets up, leaving them to talk. 

 

* * *

 

Cup of real coffee - not spaceship crap - in hand, Bucky stands by the window of the apartment, watching the world go by. He’s waiting for both Steve to get back from yelling it out with the WSC delegates and Natasha to finish up talking to Clint so he can go check in with both of them and then fall into his bed.

The apartment is quiet but it feels so different to being on the Highway. There was the sense of being utterly isolated, but here he’s in the thick of things, watching countless people pass by, oblivious to his quiet vigil. The noise of Brooklyn hums on beyond the panes of glass, a thousand murmurs of cars and footsteps and voices. There’s life here, and he’s grateful for its presence.

“So I’m not coming with you.”

Bucky looks up away from the window, confused. “What?”

Apparently done with talking to Clint, Natasha walks over to stand next to him, tracing her fingers along the windowsill. “Clint told me everything,” she says. One perfect eyebrow goes up. “I am not travelling all the way to Mars just to watch you two make incompetent and passive-aggressive heart eyes at each other for the entire journey home. It’ll be too painful to watch.”

Bucky’s mouth falls open.

“I’m still not entirely sure if you two doing whatever this is will be better than you two hating each other,” she muses. “That’s where my money was.”

“You thought we’d hate each other?” Bucky says.

“You’re both bull-headed, stubborn, borderline martyrs who spend most of your time trying to live up to expectations while simultaneously having serious authority issues and convincing yourself you’re not good enough,” Natasha says. “Your options were empathy or a fist fight.”

Bucky just stares at her, vaguely aware that the only reason that he’s tolerating this is that he’s had somewhat limited company over the past two months. Fuck, he’s come a long way since his Winter Soldier days - it’s almost embarrassing really.

But she is insulting him in his own apartment, so there is that.

“Fuck off.”

“I’ll trust you to go and get him when the time comes,” she says, and she’s looking amused which doesn't bode well for the future of his and Clint’s - whatever it is. She leans forwards and kisses his cheek. “Get him, and bring him home.”

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 71 - Journal Entry RE: the tale of Hawkeye, Winter Soldier and their Martian romance, lost to the pages of time, forgotten apart from in dreams and memories. (or the time Clint and Bucky fucked a lot on Tony’s pet spaceship and then were totally cool bros about it when they got home.]**

So I may have blabbed to Nat about the fact I’ve got a crush on Bucky. She may have called me an idiot in lots of languages. Oh, and she threw it out there that I might just be attaching myself to him because of the whole being stuck on Mars thing? I dunno. I thought about it, and yeah I guess I could have attached to him because of that, but would that really extend into me wanting to see him naked? Eh, guess I’ll never know. Maybe we’ll just have sixty days of sex in space and then it all falls apart when we get home. Either option sounds good right now, but then again I am starved of human contact and think that fighting Chitauri sounds good right about now.  

Seeing Bucky and Nat back at home sucked, too. Kinda hit me that this was all real and that everyone got home but me. I know I was all ‘yay halfway, woo I can deal with this,’ but it sucks. I know Bucky’s said he’s coming back for me, but I’m not gonna hold him to it, not now he’s back on Earth. He’s with all his friends that he denies he has, eating real food and being able to go where he wants, when he wants.

I’m amazed he even volunteered for the space mission, now I know how much he’s not a fan of being confined. And the fact he’s saying he’s coming back. I don’t know if I can ask him to do that. No matter how much I want the sixty days of sex in space.

I’m gonna go for a walk. Shoot some rocks, think it over.

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 71 - Journal Entry RE: I fell in a crater.]**

So, not to make myself sound like a dumbass or anything. But I fell in a crater. Ow.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell did you do?” 

Bucky sits at his desk, distracted for a second from disassembling and cleaning his handgun. Clint is sitting shirtless in front of his workstation, rubbing some sort of lotion into his shoulder which is looking rather battered and bruised.

“Single handedly won a fight against a Destroyer which landed in the dead of night.”

Bucky stares at him and Clint deflates.

“Okay, I fell in a crater.”

“Durak,” Bucky mutters. “How bad?”

“Bruised,” Clint says. “It’s fine. Why, you worried?”

Bucky sighs through his nose, looking down as he checks the recoil spring. Clint’s tone is mischievous, clearly trying to get a rise or response out of him. So he promptly derails that attempt by looking up and saying, “Yes.”

Clint flushes, looking away and scratching at his hat. “I didn’t mean-” he begins. “Wow. Awkward.”

“No, not awkward,” Bucky says. “I worry about you. And I want you back here safe as soon as possible.”

Clint goes if possible, even redder, pleased embarrassment staining his cheeks. “I thought your protective murder instincts only covered Steve.”

“Room for one more,” Bucky shrugs. “Besides. You worried about me, when I went out on the spacewalk.”

Clint pulls at his hat again, fidgeting that’s all too-telling. “Yeah, kinda dumb,” he says. “You’re the Winter Soldier. As if you need a carnie with a stick from the paleolithic era worrying about you.”

“I guess I’ll let it slide,” Bucky says, and then raises his brows and asks, “Paleolithic?”

Clint grins, and Bucky is now pretty sure he’d murder things to protect that smile. “Yeah,” Clint says. “I looked it up.”

 

* * *

**[Sol 72 - Journal Entry RE: GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER AND TELL HIM.]**  

Note to self – stop getting distracted by that fucking smile and tell him not to come back for you.

 

* * *

 

Bucky may like space, but he fuckin’ loves being home. Saturday night finds him on the couch, wrapped up in blankets and staring at the TV, warm and content and full of proper New York pizza. There’s a part of him that won’t settle though. He’s just finished talking to Clint, covering the usual mix of ridiculous and serious; the conversation weaving through pizza toppings, strategy for dealing with AIM, the updated count on how many times Clint has jerked off, the politics of the WSC and how easy it would be to keep an actual hawk as a pet. 

“Next one?”

Bucky looks up with a ‘Hmm?’ as Steve prods him with his toes, stretching out where he’s sprawled on the other couch with a packet of Doritos balanced on his stomach. Steve waves the TV controller at him, and Bucky blinks and realises the last episode of The Walking Dead has finished, the screen patiently suggesting they start the next one.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says, scratching at his brow with his thumb. “Go for it.”

“Everything alright over there?”

Bucky pulls at his lip absently, thinking. “You and Tony,” he finally says.

“What about it?” Steve asks, wriggling to get comfortable as he starts the next episode playing, pillowing an arm behind his head.

“You two still...doing whatever you’re doing now you’re back on Earth? Or was it just a being in space thing?”

Steve shoves his hand into the bag of Doritos, eyes on the screen. “Well we didn’t actually...we didn’t do much on the Highway,” he says. He clears his throat. “Not much privacy. And those bunks weren’t exactly roomy.”

“I love that you can joke about it all the live long day, but get you actually talking about sex and you look like you’ve been set on fire.”

“Well this is different,” Steve says. “This is actually true.”

“Back to the point,” Bucky says, shifting onto his side so he can see Steve. “You’re still seeing him, right? So it wasn’t just because you were lonely in space or whatever.”

“There’s always been something going on with me and Tony,” Steve says. “Being confined in a tin can for five months just kind of made us deal with it.”

Bucky snorts. “No way either of you can storm off.”

Steve laughs ruefully. “Exactly.” He glances back at Bucky, thoughtful. “Is this about me and Tony or is this about you and Clint?”

“Me and Clint? There is no-”

“Buck, c’mon,” Steve says, patient and amused.

“Fuck off.”

“Buck.”

Bucky’s mouth twists. “How do you know it wasn’t just space? I know all about attachments formed in those kind of situations. Hell, I’ve been on both ends of Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Oh, Jesus, Buck, please tell me you are _not_ comparing this to Stockholm Syndrome-”

“No, no,” Bucky insists. “Whatever syndrome you get when you get attached to someone because they’re the only option.”

“Tony was not the only option,” Steve says. “I could have decided to get attached to you.”

Bucky throws a pillow at him. “Stop being a shit,” he says. “You fucking shit.”

Steve shoves the pillow away, carefully holding the bag of doritos so they’re out of range of projectiles. Bucky is tempted to throw a knife just to spite him. Steve looks over and then shoves the bag down between his hip and the back of the couch so Bucky won’t be able to stab the chips without stabbing him.

“Well Clint has been on long missions with Nat, me, Tony, Thor, Scott Lang, Kate… and as far as I’m aware he never got weirdly attached to any of them. He did to have to file a restraining order against Deadpool, but that’s not a comment on him, really-”

“Steve. I know full well you are a fan of getting to the fucking point.”

“You’re worrying it’s just circumstantial, right?”

“Not worrying. Observing.”

“Right. Sure. So you were on that mission for a hundred and forty three days. You hate confined spaces, being trapped. But you dealt with it. And not only did you deal with it, you’re planning on going straight back out in less than two weeks even though you don’t have to. And since you got back, you’ve spent most of your time shooting stuff on the Tower’s range and brooding about Clint. If you want the getting to the point version, you quite clearly have a thing for Clint that extends just beyond space-syndrome.”

Steve rolls all the way over so he’s on his side, pillowing his cheek on the back of his hand and looking far too innocent for the jerk he is. “I think it could work.”

“I didn’t want this,” Bucky says. “Steve you know I’m better off-”

“On your own? Yeah,” Steve says. “Says the guy who won’t move out of my apartment, voluntarily joins Nat on missions and agreed to be locked in a spaceship for five months with, hmm, what was it you said? A jerk, a science nerd, a human car crash and Tony Stark.”

Indignant, Bucky’s mouth works for a bit and then he gives up, folding his arms across his chest and looking back at the zombie-fuelled-mayhem on the screen. “You’re crushing your Doritos,” he says, and allows himself a smirk as Steve curses.

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 74 -  uuuuuuuuuugh conscience go awayyyyyy]**

I can’t ask him to come back. He’s so fucking happy being back on Earth. I can’t.

  

* * *

 

Bucky blinks at Clint. “What?”

“Don’t come back,” Clint repeats with a shrug. “You don’t need to. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Shut up, Clint,” Bucky says dismissively.

“Don’t fucking tell me to shut up,” Clint snaps.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” Bucky retorts.

They glare at each other across the hundreds of million miles of space. “You know Nat had money on us not getting on?” Bucky finally says. “I get that now.”

Clint exhales, leaning forwards on his elbow and pressing his heel of his palm to his forehead. “You can’t do it all again,” he says. “You hate being confined, I can’t-”

“I hate,” Bucky interrupts, “choices being taken out of my hands. And I like the fact I don’t have you pegged as a person who is ever going to try and make decisions for me.”

Clint makes a frustrated noise. “But another four and a half months-”

“Worth it,” Bucky says. “Don’t you belittle my determination or try and talk sense into me. You’ll start sounding like Steve.”

Clint’s mouth hitches in an uncertain smile.

“Clint,” Bucky says, and light grey eyes lift to meet his. “There is nothing that you can say that is gonna stop me getting back on that ship. If something happens here and I’m needed, I’ll make the call. If I think I can’t handle it, I’ll make the call. But as it stands, I’m coming to rescue your sorry ass and there is nothing you can do about it.”

And Clint huffs, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. His cheeks are flushing pink and he’s trying not to smile. “Alright, keep your panties on,” he says.

“Just until I get there,” Bucky says with a suggestive wink.

Clint’s cheeks go even pinker.  

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Nat says, her voice coming in through Bucky’s earpiece. It’s a bizarre situation seeing as she’s right in front of him. She reaches out and hitches the straps of the seat over his shoulders, shoving him into the seat with more force than strictly necessary. She clips him in and raps on his EVA helmet with her knuckles. “See you in a few months.” 

“You’re not even meant to be in here,” he says. “Go watch with Kate in the peanut gallery.”

“We do need to go and finish our list of things to enjoy before Clint gets back and makes us look after him again,” Natasha muses. “But I suppose you’ll be the one looking after him when he gets back.”

She just smiles in the face of his glower. “Are you going to be okay with them?” she asks, lifting her chin to where Tony and Rhodey are bickering spectacularly about who is going in the pilot’s seat and who is being demoted to the co-pilot’s.

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky says. “Rhodes has a higher Tony tolerance level than the rest of us. We can shut Stark in the airlock and bond over how our best friends are reckless assholes.”

“You do that,” Natasha says. “Take pictures.”

“Get off the ship unless you’re coming with us,” Bucky replies. She smiles and climbs out of the ship, waving as she does.

“Barnes, tell Rhodes to get his ass out of my seat.”

“Barnes, give me the keys to the weapons locker so I can shut Tony up.”

Bucky wants to pinch his nose, but is thwarted by his EVA helmet. “Sort it out or the first thing that will happen when Clint is on board is that I will fuck him in the rec area.”

There’s a pause. Outside, they can hear the ground crew shouting and clearing the area. “So, all in favor of leaving Clint on Mars, or kicking Barnes off the ship?” Tony asks lightly. He glances at Rhodey and then settles into the co-pilot’s chair without another word. He reaches forwards and presses a button to close the doors and seal the airlock.

Bucky rolls his eyes and settles back into his seat.

“Barnes and Barton?” he hears Rhodey say, sounding confused. “When did that happen?”

“After we left Clint on Mars,” Tony says wearily, and the engines roar to life. “Don’t ask.”

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you’re coming straight back,” Clint says all too happily for someone who claims that he didn’t really expect Bucky to come all the way back out to Mars. “And I really can’t believe you’re alone with Stark and Rhodes. 

“Steve wanted to come back,” Bucky tells Clint, sitting at the workstation which is now his. Instead of being covered in Jane’s science and equations, it’s now covered in bits and pieces of guns and ammo, and if the gravity fails in here they’re really going to be fucked. Somewhere further into the ship he hears Rhodey make a half-startled half-disgusted yell, and Tony cackling madly with laughter. He doesn’t want to know.

“Yeah, he called me,” Clint says. “He’s pretty pissed at the WSC.”

“He’s always mad at the WSC,” Bucky says dismissively. “In fact he’s always mad at any body of authority that tries to tell him what to do.”

“Hypocrite,” Clint muses. “He should stop trying to tell us what to do if he doesn’t like it.”

“Yeah, good luck pitching that to him,” Bucky snorts. “You’ve got…. Just over four months left to practice how you’re going to get that to fly.”

“Well, the minute I’m back on that ship with you I think I’ll be busy,” Clint says, and Bucky sits back in his chair, folding his arms and looking faintly impressed.

“Hawkeye, that was almost smooth,” he says.

Clint grins. “Not too cheesy?”

“Skirting the line, but I think you got away with it,” Bucky says. “I got some lines I know’ll work on you.”

“Gonna turn on the forties charm?”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky says with a wink. “Have your panties around your ankles in no time.”

Clint groans and slumps forwards, burying his face in his arms. “You can’t say things like that,” he complains, lifting his head enough to glare at Bucky. “We’ve still got sixty-seven days left.”

“You’ll just have to exercise some restraint then.”

“Yeah, fuck that,” Clint says. “You’ve got super strength, right? I should probably spend the next sixty-seven days limbering up.”

Bucky grins, pulse skipping, letting his eyes skim down over Clint’s neck and shoulders, slow and deliberate. “Yeah, I think you should.”

Clint’s cheeks are flushing red. “Are we about to have cyber sex? Is that’s what’s going on? Is this actually happening?”

“Not a chance!” a loud voice shouts through from the rec room. “Barnes, I’m cutting you off!”

“Don’t you dare,” Bucky yells back at Tony. “I put up with you and Steve, you can put up with me!”

Tony appears in the hatch, finger pointing threateningly at Bucky. Yeah, like that’s a good idea when he’s out of his suit. “No cyber sex,” he says. “Me and Steve were _not_ this bad.”

Bucky raises an unimpressed eyebrow and folds his arms over his chest, ready to argue it out. Luckily for Tony, Rhodey appears, pulling Tony back with the weary expression of a man who has done this more times than he wants to count. “Leave the man alone.”

“Yeah, Tony,” Clint chimes in. “You left me on Mars, leave us alone.”

Tony resists against Rhodey’s pull, grabbing onto the edge of the doorframe. “No jacking off in my cockpit.”

Bucky, Clint and Rhodey all make identical noises of protest and distaste, Rhodey letting go of Tony’s arm and Bucky turning his chair away. On the other end of the feed, Clint has his hands pressed over his eyes; the part of face that Bucky can see looks traumatized. 

“Oh I’d like to see them try after that mental image,” Rhodey says, eyes screwed shut as he turns away from the hatch. “I’m out.”

“What? What’s wrong with that mental image?” Tony demands, turning to follow Rhodey. “Captain America thinks I’m a catch, he says-”

“Tony, for the last time, I do not want to know-”

“Well,” Bucky says as the voices move away. “Moment ruined?”

“Yep,” Clint says. “I think my dick has retreated back inside my body.”

“Now it’s definitely ruined,” Bucky says. “I-”

He stops, startled, as the feed suddenly winks out without warning. He moves over to the communications tab and tries to open it, and is met with the same blinking message from before.

 _err.542 no connection_  

“Tony!” he bellows. “Tony, what the fuck did you do?”

He’s up out of the seat, ducking through the hatch and striding over to where Tony is standing by the coffee machine but looking his way, frowning. Steve’s now boy-toy or no, Bucky is going to strangle him.

“Me? I cock-blocked you and Barton so I didn’t have to hear you getting freaky.”

“Reconnect it,” Bucky snaps. “Now.”

“What?”

“You cut us off! Reconnect it!”

“Whoa, Barnes, he didn’t do anything,” Rhodey says. “Unless he can somehow control communications with the coffee maker, he didn’t do anything.”

“The call dropped out,” Bucky says. “The same error as before-”

“Then it’s his end,” Tony says, looking frustrated. With Bucky or the technology, it’s hard to tell which. “Sit. I’ll sort it out.”

He ducks through into the cockpit, leaving Bucky standing there staring after him. “Did he just tell me to fucking sit?”

Rhodey grimaces. “Sensitivity is not his strong suit?”

“How about his sense of mortality?” Bucky says. “He tells me to sit ever again and we’ll be having a short sharp conversation-”

“Memo received,” Rhodey says, holding up his hands to pacify. “Though if you’re gonna make your point by swinging punches, he’s gonna swing back. Just incase you didn’t know.”

“I’m not going to-” Bucky makes an irritated noise in his throat, cutting himself off. “We’re not going to fight. I just want to get the comms back online.”

“Good,” Rhodey says. “I want to get home with a better story than ‘oh yeah, I had to referee a fight between the Winter Soldier and Iron Man in space. Because the Winter Soldier thought Iron Man was sabotaging his attempts to have cyber sex with Hawkeye, who’d been left on Mars.’ Hang on, what am I saying, that’s a great story.”

Bucky rubs his brow. “What happens if I make a point with you by swinging punches?”

“Hey, I’m on your side here,” Rhodey says. “I can back off and let Tony be full Tony if you like? Stop reminding him to sleep, let him have all the caffeine he wants-”

“You and Steve are crazy.”

“Says the man who is hooking up with Hawkeye,” Rhodey says. “How does that even happen?”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “I don’t know what Stark has said about me, but I’m not exactly a sharing and caring type of guy.”

“Alright, keep your secrets,” Rhodey says. “And maybe close the hatch when you’re talking dirty?”

Bucky is torn between making it adamantly clear that he does not want anyone telling stories about what’s going on with him and Clint, and letting the whole fucking world know. He’s had plenty of things to be ashamed about it the past; Clint is in no way one of those things. But he is a private guy, and he doesn’t want his life becoming an open book-

“The transmitter has gone.” Tony’s voice draws his attention and he looks up to see a put out expression. Tony has a tablet in hand, and he’s tapping away on it, mouth a tight line.

Bucky’s stomach coil tight. Fuck. “What does that mean?”

“It means no more cyber-sex,” Tony says. “You’re limited to sexting.”

He hands over the tablet; Bucky snatches it from his hand and sees a comm tab open, but without a video feed, just several lines of text.

 

_**HW.IM** – holding up alright, Hawkeye?_

_**S3.HE** – what the hell happened?_

_**HW.IM** – transmitter has busted, no video feed until I can get there and fix it._

_**S3.HE** – you’re kidding me, right?_

_**HW.IM** – I’m sorry. I’ll hand you back to the Terminator. _

 

“Log me out and log yourself in,” Tony says, and actually looks apologetic. “I’ll see if there’s any way I can remotely rig something to get audio back.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky says, already logging Tony out and signing himself in.

 

_**HW.WS** – did you break something?_

_**S3.HE** – I am insulted. I did nothing._

_**HW.WS** – Tony’s going to try and fix it remotely. Hold in there._

_**S3.HE** – I miss your face already._

Bucky groans, rubbing at his brow. “Fucking shit,” he grits out, eyes clenched shut. It’s bad enough for Clint being stuck there when he has got video call, but to only have text to communicate is going to be a thousand times worse.

 

_**HW.WS** – At least you’ll appreciate it when you get to see it again._

 

There’s no reply. Just a blinking dot on the next line, waiting for a response. Fuck, he has no idea what is going on at the other end, if Clint is falling to pieces because of the cut off, if he’s just stepped away from the computer for a while, if he’s electrocuted himself or blown up the Station- 

“Can this boat not go any faster?”

Tony hesitates, and then squeezes Bucky’s shoulder before taking off into the cockpit again. Bucky exhales shakily, rubbing his mouth and starting down at the blinking green dot, waiting for a reply.

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 83 - Journal Entry RE: fuck you again technology]**

No video calling, no audio link. What the hell am I supposed to do for the next sixty six days?

 

* * *

 

Bucky’s tablet beeps. He looks up from where he’s playing around with the configuration of his sniper sights and pulls it out from under several boxes of ammunition. It’s a sign of how often the damn thing beeps that neither Tony nor Rhodey look up from their game of poker. 

 

_**S3.HE –** Still alive?_

_**HW.WS –** Yes. Very much still alive. Stark may not be if he makes any more jokes about sexting._

_**S3.HE –** Leave Stark alone. He wins at winding Steve up. We need him._

_**HW.WS –** Point accepted. He may live._

_**S3.HE –** I respect your agency, but I suggest no murdering on the spaceship._

Bucky snorts softly with laughter. He’s about to reply when another message comes in before he can even start typing.

**_S3.HE_ ** – _Tricky day._

Shit. Clint’s having more and more of these as they get closer, undoubtedly he’s feeling more and more isolated now he’s got nothing but texting to rely on.

 

_**HW.WS** – You got it in hand?_

_**S3.HE** – Could do with some stories. If you’ve got any._

Bucky smiles. He was going to offer anyway - Clint seems to genuinely enjoy hearing about Bucky’s stories from the past, the parts he remembers anyway. He might just be living vicariously through Bucky’s stories, but Bucky can privately admit that it feels kinda good to share some of the grittier parts of his past with someone who won’t cringe or get that haunted look in their eyes. Not having to do it face to face is an unexpected bonus, too.

_**HW.WS** – Alright. 1995, Moscow?_

_**S3.HE** – Hit me._

 

Bucky goes to refill his coffee and then settles in and starts typing.

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 96 - Journal Entry RE: the best coincidence in the history of humankind]**

'Strap-on' spelled backwards is 'no parts'.

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 100 - Journal Entry RE: hundred days on mars.]**

One hundred days! A whole hundred days on Mars without company and I have not lost my mind or blown myself up! Hell yeah! Officially the best Avenger in the galaxy now.

And only FORTY-NINE DAYS until they come and get me and I will be able to see people. Oh god, people and real conversation and human contact.

And possibly blowjobs in the airlock.

I think this calls for a celebration.

 

* * *

 

Bucky’s tablet beeps from underneath his pillow. He groans but lifts his head up so he can groggily retrieve it, trying to wake himself up in case Clint needs something, in case something has gone wrong. He swipes across the screen with a metal finger and blinks at the line of text that has appeared. 

 

_**S3.HE** – Your stomach thinks all potato is mashed._

 

He blinks some more.

 

_**HW.WS** – I will turn you into mashed potato if you EVER AGAIN message me at 4am when you are neither dead nor dying._

 

He hits send, drops the tablet and goes back to sleep.

 

* * *

  

**[Sol 101- Journal Entry RE: bleargh]**

I am never drinking in space again.

 

* * *

 

_**S3.HE** –  You up?_

_**HW.WS** – Could be, for you._

_**S3.HE** –  Wind is picking up. lots of noise._

_**HW.WS** – Just noise. You’re safe._

_**S3.HE** –  talk to me?_

_**HW.WS** – you tell me a story this time._

_**S3.HE** –  My stories are dumb_

_**HW.WS** – You worked with Natasha, i call bullshit._

_**S3.HE** –  Okay. Budapest, 2004?_

_**HW.WS** – I’m all ears._

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 103 - Journal Entry RE: Am I in love with Bucky or have I gone space crazy]**

It is not possible to fall in love with someone over millions of miles, right? Not proper love, anyway. Like, you can bond with them and get closer and all that stuff but only a complete idiot would actually fall in love over a fancy version of Skype.

 

* * *

**[Sol 112 - Journal Entry RE: Aw, fucksticks.]**  

Okay, I am a complete idiot.  Nobody tell Natasha or Kate.

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 148 - Journal Entry RE: LAST NIGHT ON MARS BITCHES]**

My last night alone in this stupid station in this stupid bunk with nothing to fucking do. Oh my god, Bucky is going to be here tomorrow. What if he looks at me and is like _‘aw, no actually.’_ Oh my god what has he done to me why do I even give a shit.

I better shower if I want to get my way about blowjobs in the airlock.

 

* * *

  

Bucky’s heart is pounding. Punching against his sternum, demanding and impatient. It’s got nothing to do with the shuddering of the Highway as it descends towards the surface of Mars. It’s the fact that Clint is now a distance away that can be measured in metres. Minutes. Seconds.

“Alright Buck, stay in that seat until I give you clearance,” Tony’s voice says over his headset. “Let’s not fuck this up now.”

Bucky lifts a thumbs up towards the back of the pilot’s seat. He breathes in and out steadily as the ship descends, engines roaring in protest. He hears the dull whining of the landing gear moving into position, murmured words exchanged between Tony and Rhodey. He closes his eyes, exhales slowly through his nose.

Finally, with a groan and a thump, they land and he opens his eyes. Slants of sunlight shine through the window, landing across his face.

“Okay. I have messaged Hawkeye, he knows not to touch the airlock on the station from his side,” Tony says. “You’re good to go to the door.”

Bucky is out of the belts and straps in seconds, striding over to stand beside the airlock. The station is twenty meters away from them. That’s nothing.

“Fuck me, you can move quickly when you want,” Tony says, sounding impressed. “Even in that damn EVA suit.”

“Come on. Airlock,” Bucky says impatiently. “Come on, come on.

“Alright, go get your man,” Tony says. Bucky gives him the finger as the airlock clicks and hisses open. He steps in, waits for the door to shut behind him, breathing steadily and even as the seals clunk and the pressure stabilizes before the outer door slowly opens.

Mars is as bleak and orange as he remembered. Though this time there’s no Destroyer floating on the horizon, no Guardians waiting for them. Just miles and miles of orange dust and rock, and the station, nestled into the underside of a cliff.

The airlock closes behind him. Heart beating strongly and the corner of his mouth hitching in a smile, he starts to walk.

 

* * *

 

The outer airlock door closes behind him, and before he’s even reached for the control panel, there’s a beep and the inner door lights up, starting to slide open.

“You were not allowed to do that!” he yells, but then Clint is tumbling through the gap before the door is even fully open, lunging at Bucky and grabbing him in a hug. Bucky’s heart slams up into the base of his throat and he grabs Clint in return, staggering slightly under the combined bulk of the EVA suit and the weight of Clint pressing against him.

“I don’t care,” Clint says, and then he’s leaning back and looking at Bucky like he’s a goddamn revelation, like he’s the reason he got up that morning. His hair is sticking up all over the place and his eyes are too bright, and he’s putting his hands on the side of Bucky’s helmet and leaning in to kiss the glass, laughing as he does.

“You look like shit,” Bucky tells him, and Clint just laughs harder, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s helmet. “Get it off, Clint, get the helmet off.”

Bucky has his arms locked around Clint’s waist, holding him tight against the suit, but Clint still manages to lean back, pulling at the catches to release the seals and then lifting the helmet off. He tosses it aside and meets Bucky’s eyes, breathless with want and edged in uncertainty-

Bucky yanks him in for a kiss. Clint goes willingly, hands scrabbling for purchase on the shoulders of the EVA suit. Clint kisses him back and then pulls back, breathless.

“Can I get the rest of the suit off?”

Bucky laughs. “No. Get yours on, dumbass. We’ve got a plane to catch.”

* * *

 

Bucky can’t sleep. He’s just lying there, staring at the roof of his bunk. It’s been twenty hours since they picked Clint up, and he’s still coming down off the rush. It’s a strange sort of relief, knowing that Clint is actually here, within arms reach. No longer contactable only by text, no longer a maybe or a when. He’s here. Healthy and safe - and in desperate need of a haircut - but none the worse for wear.

The celebratory dinner they’d had on board the Highway had been excitable and rowdy; Tony had bought out the beer and pizza, Clint had talked non-stop, boisterously arguing with Rhodey and Tony. Bucky had joined in - obviously it was impossible to listen to these guys without having a piece or two to say - but had mostly carefully watched over Clint, checking for any signs that he wasn't all okay. Clint had made his job pretty easy by the fact he'd wedged himself on the bench next to Bucky, so close that their thighs were pressed together. Bucky had indulged him, even going as far as to slip an arm around his back, palm resting on his hip.

Predictably, Tony had made a joke about it within four seconds. Clint had replied instantly with _‘I’ve been starved of human contact because you left me on Mars,’_ and Tony had cheerfully agreed to shut the fuck up. Rhodey hadn’t even bothered trying to hide his laughter.

Clint had stayed glued to Bucky’s side even after that, during the video call home to show the rest of the team he was safe he’d sat with one of Bucky’s arms over his shoulders, a cup of real coffee held securely between both hands and a teary-eyed grin on his face. Natasha had been the only one to comment, looking at Bucky with a slightly impressed eyebrow raise, saying ‘not as incompetent as I imagined.’  

Yeah. Having Clint back is working out pretty well, as far as Bucky’s concerned. Definitely worth the extra months in space.

He looks around as he hears someone shifting beyond the curtain of his bunk, a rustle and swish of a curtain. He waits, and sure enough he hears Clint’s voice whisper his name.

“Yeah,” he murmurs back, and reaches up to pull the curtain back. Clint is standing there, awkwardly huddled in a blanket and looking uncomfortable.

“Tricky moment,” he says after a pause, looking miserably down at his feet.

“Get in,” Bucky replies.

Clint doesn’t waste any time. He drops the blanket and clambers into the bunk with Bucky, pressing up against him. Bucky has to lie on his side to get him in but he doesn’t hesitate, wrapping his left arm around Clint’s waist and hauling him close, pressed hip to hip and chest to chest.

“Steve’s right, ain’t exactly much room in these bunks,” Bucky says quietly. Clint just nods jerkily, dipping his head and nudging Bucky’s cheekbone with his nose.

“I got you,” Bucky says, and Clint exhales shakily.

“Alright,” he says, and swallows thickly. “Okay, yeah. I’m good.”

“You just wanted an excuse to press up against me,” Bucky says and Clint snorts softly. The tension is already easing from his shoulders, pulse slowly returning to normal. They fall quiet, lying there in the dark. The only light is the muted glow of the emergency lighting that comes in around the edge of the curtain, just enough so that Bucky can make out Clint’s face, inches from his own.

“Can I ask something?”

“As long as it’s not something dumb about punching yourself if the face or how dogs think.”

“Is this just a space thing?”

Bucky pauses, because he’s asked himself the same thing. And honestly, he doesn’t know.

“I don’t know,” he says softly. “I don’t think so. I’m willing to find out, though.”

“Okay,” Clint says, like it’s that easy. He leans in and gently kisses Bucky’s jaw, and then shifts even closer, fingers tightening on Bucky’s side. Bucky feels Clint breathe out, one of his knees lifting to slide over Bucky’s. Bucky responds automatically, pushing his thigh between Clint’s.

“You know there’s a rule about screwing on the spaceship, right?” Bucky says casually, and Clint does laugh at that.

“I hope the rule is that Clint and Bucky are required to fuck at least once a day,” Clint says. “Otherwise I’m not interested.”

“I’m sure we can find a loophole or two,” Bucky says, and nudges Clint’s face up so he can kiss him. It’s different from before, slow and gentle and almost careful. He traces his metal fingers over the small of Clint’s back and Clint shudders against him, his own hand carefully sliding up Bucky’s side, pushing up under his sleep shirt.

“I can do what I want, they left me on Mars,” Clint murmurs into Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky’s still smiling when he leans in to kiss him again.

 

* * *

 

**[Sol 150 - over and out]**

:D

 

* * *

 

A buzzing sound jerks Clint out of sleep, and he has a wild moment of thinking it’s the sound of something breaking on the station, but then his brain comes back online and he realizes it’s his pager rattling its way across the beside table, knocking against the barrel of Bucky’s Glock.

“Stop it before I smash it,” Bucky mutters drowsily, shoving his face under the pillow.

Earth. Right. Steve and Bucky’s apartment. Not Mars.

“Nnn,” Clint replies, groping along the table until he grabs the pager. He blinks at it and groans as he sees the word Avengers merrily flashing at him. It’s not an assemble though, so he doesn’t make a real effort to rush.

“‘Vengers,” he says, and Bucky curses and goes to sit up. He gets as far as pushing the pillows out of the way when there’s a banging on the door of the bedroom, and then Steve’s voice, sounding far too awake for the asscrack of the morning.

“Did you get the alert?”

“Yeah,” Bucky shouts back, voice rough and scratchy with sleep. “We’re getting.”

“It’s a station alert,” Steve calls back. “Something coming in through a portal just outside of orbit. Meeting to decide if we need to go out to meet it, or if we’re holding the line here.”

Clint looks at Bucky. Bucky looks back, and then shakes his head.

“Should I tell them you said fuck off or fuck you?” Steve asks through the door and both Clint and Bucky start to laugh.

Clint grins, lifting his head up to shout, "Tell them that I don't have to go because they-"

"Left you on Mars, yeah, gottit."

“Yeah, put us down for the staying on Earth team,” Bucky calls back. “See you later, Steve.”

Clint hears Steve move away, and tosses his pager aside. “You know, I could handle another trip,” he says, settling back down into the pillows and yawning widely. “What are the odds of me being left behind twice?”

Bucky clambers over him, pulling the blankets with him, resting his forearms either side of Clint’s head. Clint automatically lifts and parts his knees to make way for him, hands finding a home on Bucky’s ribs.

“This is you, we’re talking about,” Bucky says and Clint pulls a face. “Point.”

He sighs contentedly as Bucky lowers his head to kiss him, slowly catching Clint’s lower lip between his own and lazily rolling their hips together. “You’ve not been back on Earth long enough to even consider going back out again,” he says against Clint’s mouth, and he’s being a dirty cheat but Clint isn’t sure he cares.

“Six months,” Clint says, and he knows Steve doesn’t expect him to ever go out on space missions again, but there’s part of him that doesn’t want to let anyone down.

Bucky drags his mouth across Clint’s cheek, down his neck. “You were out there for nine months,” he says, breathing hotly against Clint’s neck and making him squirm, thighs tightening around Bucky’s waist. “We’re not going.”

“Got a pretty compelling reason to stay, I guess,” Clint says breathlessly.

They hear the front door to the apartment slam loudly and pointedly, and Bucky lifts his head to grin wickedly down at Clint. “Oh look. Privacy. I think we should take full advantage of that.”

“I think you have the best ideas,” Clint says breathlessly, and pulls Bucky back down for a kiss.


End file.
